#I hate the wardrobe they have given her

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Frisky Friday thot?

You've caught the attention of not one gorgeous blonde, but two at one of Stark's parties. Each charming in their own way, they make room for you to sit between them and offer you a drink. One drink won't hurt.

Right?

Just a Drop

“You are such a buzzkill," Mandy snaps as she untangles the thin strap of her bag. "I'm tryna do something here and you keep whining that you're all alone--" 

You reel at your friend's harshness. She asked you to come. She even said she needed the moral support. After all, how could she go alone to one of Stark's infamous parties. She's so nervous, don't you know? 

"Sorry, but I don't know anyone but you--" 

"It's a party. Get out there," she retorts and pulls out her mirror compact. She checks her lips and flicks her lashes. "Now, if I keep Tony waiting, he's going to find someone else. So go. Plenty of people to mingle with." 

You sniff back your reticence and the sting of her tone. You nod and she spins on her heel and stomps back through the door. You contemplate leaving. Would she notice? Well, if she realises you ditched her, you would have zero friend in the city. 

You look down at yourself. You even let her dress you. The sweater is blush pink with sequins on it, but she was frustrated that it was so baggy. She paired it with a skirt even though it’s cold. She couldn’t lend you any of her clothes because they wouldn’t fit. The one thing she did give you from your wardrobe were the shoes. Heeled booties that make you teeter. 

You make yourself go back into the room. The voices hit you like a sonic wave. Everyone is so cheery and excited to see each other. It’s crowded and chaotic and you have no place there. It’s no different than you’ve felt your whole time in the city. Lost and alone. 

You set to wandering around. You’ll pace away the time until Mandy releases you from this purgatory. You shrink away from the woman you know to be Natasha Romanov. You tried to say hi but she looked at you as if she would swat you away like a gnat. Then there’s the men she’s with; they’re hulking, mean looking figures. 

You fold your arms and try to will yourself into invisibility. Certainly, given a number of your company, that can’t be entirely impossible. You pass behind the couch and something knocks against your elbow as you walk along the leather. 

You recoil and turn to rub your elbow as you watch the man touch his blond hair. Oh no. As he leaned back, you must have bopped him. You cradle your arm and cringe. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you say as his blue eyes find you. It’s Thor. The god of thunder. He was one that Mandy was sure to point out; a backup plan, she proclaimed. “I didn’t see you.’ 

“Not to worry, lady. My own fault. I was being rowdy and did not think before I threw myself back,” he drops his hands. “I should be honoured to be battered by a woman so enchanting.” 

You blink. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you. Sometimes Mandy’s compliments turn out not to be. The man beside him glances back too. Oh, Steve Rogers. 

“Hey, you seem lonely,” he says, “who’d you come with?” 

“Oh, uh,” you look around. You don’t see Mandy. “A friend.” 

“A friend?” He echoes. 

“Yeah, but I don’t know where they went...” you trail off. 

“How improper of us, Rogers,” Thor reaches over to muss Steve’s hair before he stands. He turns and faces you over the couch, “my lady, I present to you Steve Rogers of Brookland.” 

“Brooklyn--” Steve corrects. 

“And it is I, Prince Thor of Asgard,” he touches his own chest as he booms, “would you do us the honour of joining us for a drink?” 

“Oh, a drink?” You squeak in surprise. “I hate to impose--” 

“Impose? We could use the company,” he assures you and waves you around. “Rogers, make room, you lump.” 

“Lump?” Steve mutters, though there’s a lilt of humour in his voice. 

You hesitate, swaying, then come around the long leather sofa. You don’t want to be rude. Especially to them. And it’s exactly what Mandy told you to do; mingle. 

Steve stands as you approach and gestures you down to the cushion between them. Thor remains on his feet as the other man sits with you. You peek over at the captain then up at the prince. 

“I’ll fetch us a round,” Thor declares. “I shall be fleet.” 

He turns and struts off. You stare after him and twiddle your fingers nervously. Your eyes skitter around. What do you say? 

“Not a big fan myself but Tony loves these things,” Steve says.  

“Oh, yeah, I’ve never... I don’t go to many parties.” 

“Well, you’re not missing out on much. I always end up dragging out the punchiest moron in the room. Unfortunately, that’s often my buddy.” He points and you follow it to the dark-haired man with Natasha; Bucky Barnes. 

“Oh, right,” you murmur. “That’s... too bad.” 

“He doesn’t even have a good excuse. They don’t serve anything he can get drunk on,” he snorts. 

Thor returns, giving you a start. He sets down three glasses on the low glass table across from you. “My lady,” he says and turns to sit, his weight shifting the couch. “The bar man says it is something fizzy. I can’t be certain,” he explains. “Rogers,” he turns to look at his cohort, “I’ve brought some of my home brew...” 

“Of course you did,” Steve scoffs. 

Thor reaches under his jacket and slips out a small flask. It’s gold and round, with elaborate patterning in it. He twists the cap and you feel a tug on your sweater.  

“I like this, it’s pretty,” Steve says. 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” 

“Yes, very becoming,” Thor adds as he pours into one glass, “and for you, Rogers.” He trickles more into another.  

You turn and look at the clear, bubbly drinks. Thor tucks away the flask and grabs two. He hands one to you. Rogers reaches for the third. 

“Thank you,” you accept the cold glass. 

“Skol,” Thor raises his glass. 

“Cheers,” Steve mirrors him. 

You look between them, feeling smaller as you feel their body heat brewing. You just lift your glass higher to let them clink it. You follow their lead, drinking when they do, though you nearly cough it back up. 

“Oh, bubbly,” you cover your mouth. Strong, you think. You don’t have the highest tolerance. 

“How long have you been in New York?” Steve asks, catching you off guard.  

“Oh, just about...” you tally in your head, “one year now.” 

“Wow, newbie,” he comments. You take another drink, just for something to do. 

“As am I,” Thor adds. “I do miss home but I like your planet too.” 

You nod and sip again. 

“Have you been to this place, Central Park?” Thor asks. “I was lost for a whole day.” 

“Imagine that, a whole god, lost,” Steve laughs. 

“Eh, I was off duty,” Thor argues. 

They banter back and forth and you’re all too happy to fade into the leather. You slurp tentatively. Mandy is still elusive. You suppose she managed to snare her game but what about you? 

As your eyes flit around the room, it seems to rock. You lurch forward in a sudden bout of dizziness and lean forward to put the glass down. You miss the table but the glass is caught from underneath. Thor takes it and puts it on the table. The ice hits the glass. You drank it all without realising. 

“Thirsty,” he remarks as you slouch forward. He pushes you back and Steve help eases you against the cushion, “are you feeling it?” 

“How much did you put in hers?” Steve hisses. 

“Just a drop,” Thor assures, “never worry, Rogers, I know as I am doing.” He pets your forehead as your head falls back under its own weight. You blink at the ceiling as your body slackens. “My lady, never fret. We are heroes, we will take good care of you.” 

[san8ny]

STILL GOT IT !

?: While you continue reign over your niche internet kingdom, Ellie finds herself consumed with thoughts of you, you and you! So much so, her fans are staring to notice. Joining your livestream, which she’s been trying to abstain from, you quickly remind her on why you’re so addictive in the first place! / E.W / 18+

!: too lazy to write all warnings but pretty tame when it comes to smut. s

Her heart initially falls to her ass when she sees the plethora of comments underneath her latest video, usual adornment of little heart emojis which now turned into discussions of twitter threads. How had a clipping of her rubbing herself inside a public bathroom stall, the usual shtick before she clocks into a boring 9-5– garner this much negativity? What changed?

“Eh, you don’t seem as passionate after the collab tbhhh”

“lost her touch lmfao”

“does this mean we get another video with you and—

She shuts the laptop closed, unable to further stomach her unsatisfied audience with thoughts running rampant in her mind.

Lost..her touch?

Surely these comments were satirical and just baiting her for another video with you, right? I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t gotten hate comments before, though rare for a small homemade creator like herself, but that was besides the point!

it irked her.

Since when has Ellie ever needed anyone for a platform she grew and built, huh? So what if you had given her the best fucking of her life? Genuinely, what about it? It’s not like she goes to sleep with you on her mind, just to awaken the next morning with her pajama bottoms absolutely drenched because she had the most delicious wet dream about you! That’d be crazy..

She rubs her temples a bit to soothe the pounding of her head, she needed a quick fix to this issue and fast! Opening the device back up, she seeks answers.

⌕ [“How do I get horny again without looking at the hot girl who had sex with me’s page?”]

Holding her breath, she types into the search bar. They do say google holds all the answers.

aaaand..nothing.

God, maybe she was dealing with an original experience? 8 Billion people and all useless.

What if you’ve ruined her to the brink of no-return? She can’t even orgasm anymore on her page without watching you, which makes the climaxes lackluster. She can never go back after you’ve given her a taste of the real thing.

That night, she props her laptop up with you pulled up on the screen. You’re wearing a pretty lingerie set, too pretty of one Ellie thinks. It’s the little fancy-pancy one’s you had in your closet that night you graciously let her stay over. Post-nut delirium, but Ellie could still see you liked lace alot, it being the main choice of material inhabiting your wardrobe.

Hot.

Her eyes scower the screen as donations roll in and as per usual, you thank the viewers with a pristine smile, like you didn’t turn Ellie back into a fuckin’ virgin.

She hasn’t been on one of your streams in a while actually, too caught up with work but now, she really remembers why she use to.

You were a guilty pleasure. Addictive, and Ellie didn’t even have a knack for sweets; you just always managed to pollute her head with the most vile of scenarios she could envision recreating with you and fuck, did she hate herself for it— hated herself for becoming so obsessed with someone who only saw her as a collaborater, a co-worker.

She couldn’t complain however, not with the way you manage to talk everyone through it in your streams in a low shaky voice, and especially, not with the way you capture everyones attention with your movements.

and, like a moth to a flame, Ellie finds herself, unaware, cupping her breasts..kneading the flesh like soft dough through her bleach-stained band tee, relapsing back into a place she thought she wouldn’t want to return to; she can’t help the moans that steadily escape her when you let one of your own out, and God, Ellie might really be the worst person because she hasn’t had this good of a masturbation sesh in forever. It’s been feeling so cold and robotic lately with her trying to appease her few followers, but we know how that turned out.

“Ellie’s in the stream?” You whimper out, reading the explosive chat when you slap the silicone toy messily against your puffy clit, swollen under it’s hood but sitting so pretty like an pearl would on its’s oyster, glistening in both your own liquids. “Hi Els..” Your whiney voice calls her out.

Oh God.

Ellie’s eyes roll back abit when she sees your crinkled eyes, lip pulled in between teeth and your flushed cheeks. She practically punches the ‘Co-Host’ request button with her camera off so only her pathetic pants of your name are heard, “H-hi doll..” She hisses out softly, “You l-look so pretty r’now, ah!..’m sorry haven’t been o-on your—mmh!— streams..”

You giggle at this, and the viewer count doubles in amount. Somehow, the stream becomes what seems like a steamy facetime call between two creators, with the rest of the viewers witnessing and prying in on the salacious moment, “‘s okay..just w-wanna hear your noises, Ellie.” It’s like you knew she couldn’t speak to you without a hand busying itself down there..

The girl groans, dropping her camera inbetween her legs to the echoing sounds of squelching and heaven. Though you couldn’t see her in the dark, 2:30 AM lighting of her bedroom she lounges in, you could feel it. She doesn’t even remember the last time she’d secrete this much arousal without the assistance of lube.

“A-ah, me baby? Gosh, ‘jus wanna watch you f’ a sec. Hear me well?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing and your eyes growing more heavy when you prop your legs up on the gaming chair, displaying your drenched pelvic area— all so messy and for everyone to see. Mainly the broad on the other end of the stream..

You squeal when you curl your fingers into a specifically spongy spot, lips parting and your head thrown back a bit— you’d long ditched the dildo for something a bit more efficient, something to really capture the moment between you. Strands of hair stick to your forehead when an orgasm arises, and you seem a bit upset for cumming too quickly, not when Ellie has just got here!

Prolonging it a bit, you heave and retreat from your digits, rubbing your thighs imaptiently with your sighs stuttering, all while the other girl slaps at her cunt from what you can hear. Painslut

Ellie looks up back at you when she, herself, feels a tight coil in her stomach beginning to loosen, “B-boutta’ cum, dollface. Cmon..put them back on ‘er. Need my girl to do it with me.”

You nod ever so slightly to her voice, though you cannot see her, the raspiness of her voice takes you to a whole other level, “Ellie..” you cry out when your fingers make contact, it seems to be hitting you harder than usual, hypersensitivity of edging yourself all stream. Is it so wrong her green-eyed gaze trains on you intently while you whine and bitch for her?

The muscles in her abdomen tighten when she particularly notices a dumbed out look on you, saliva seeping past your glossy lips and dribbling to the lacy outfit you had on, rubbing her clit as fast as she can, she eggs you on, “Ah! Ah! J-just there w’you..wanna do it ‘wif you.”

Ellie gasps when your legs twitch uncontrollably, and on-cue, as promised, she meets the point with you— biting her knuckle when she spasms through the waves of orgasmic pleasure.

A few moments go past when Ellie picks her phone camera up to see you’d already went past your donation threshold. She can hear your hiccups, hair all messed up and covering your face— sweet baby..

She quickly ends the live-stream for you, a co-host accessible option you’d enabled incase you couldn’t end it from your own screen.

just to run to her bathroom to clean herself up before heading to your place.

Was she invited? No. Was she likely pushing a boundary? Yes, but, was she going to start a ‘no-aftecare’ streak in her entirety of 23 years? Fuck no.

Whether you liked it or not, she was on her way.

@san8ny: “alr she still got it ig”

[undying-love]

i would like too see a compilation of all the instances John and Paul were jealous of each other's wives, girlfriends, close friendships, etc..

Jealousy from both sides: A Compilation

John

“It was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. [...] The first time I saw Linda was after that press conference to announce Apple in America. We were just going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn’t think she was particularly attractive, I wondered what he was bothering having her in the car for. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she’s married him. [...] I mean, there were quite a few women he'd obviously had that I never knew about. God knows when he was doing it, but he must have been doing it." (John)

"John woke up the next morning still feeling disturbed; he consulted the Oracle. Swan assured him that Paul and Linda were frustrated and unsatisfied. Their marriage was in trouble, he said, predicting it would break up within the year. Lately Swan’s visions had been astonishingly accurate. Relieved, John began composing a song—a little ditty, really, that would never be released—in praise of the Oracle’s powers. But he still couldn’t understand why Paul and Linda had been together for as long as they had." (Robert Rosen, Nowhere Man (based on John's diaries)

"One time Paul had a chick in bed and John came in and got a pair of scissors and cut all her clothes into pieces and then wrecked the wardrobe." (George Harrison)

"I came for dinner, and I was the only girl there. John definitely didn't like that. He didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic [...] At one point, the boys were handing around a scrapbook. John made some snide comment like, "What is SHE doing here?" I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner." (Peggy Lipton)

"When I met Yoko years after Mal died, she said John had told her he'd been very jealous at one point of Mal's relationship with Paul." (Lil Evans) 

Paul

"I was jealous because of Yoko, and afraid about the break-up of a great musical partnership. It’s taken me a year to realise that they were in love." (Paul)

"Paul wasn't happy. But the big things that were driving him mad were beyond me. He kept on working and writing, but when John came over, all he could talk about was how much he loved Yoko. That disturbed Paul. In spite of John's obvious happiness, Paul stifled his jealousy with not-very-cute bursts of racist crap." (Francie)

"Paul hates Yoko for stealing the love of his life away from him. No, not Linda…. John! Paul has never forgiven her for that." (Francie)

"My first meeting with John and Yoko was at Paul's house in St. John's Wood, shortly after their bust. [...] It's interesting that John went to Paul's house for shelter because Paul hated Yoko." (Martin Polden)

"I just can’t let John control the situation and dump us as if we are the jilted girlfriends”. (Paul)

"It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and…" (Paul)

"We were always slightly jealous of John’s other friendships. He was the older fellow; it was just the way it was. When Stuart came in, it felt as if he was taking the position away from George and me. (Paul)

“[Stu] and I used to have a deadly rivalry. I don’t know why. He was older and a strong friend of John’s. When I look back on it I think we were probably fighting for John’s attention.” (Paul)

"I’ve wondered many times over the years if that’s what some of the antagonism between Stuart and Paul might have been about, whether Paul suspected something [between John and Stu]." (Pauline Stutcliffe)

"It was the perfectionist Paul who found such an inexperienced guitarist hard to accept and this led to rows and even fights between him and Stuart. I think Paul was also a bit jealous of Stu; until then he had had most of John's attention. (Cynthia)

"Paul hated Stu. It's true that Paul had his eye on Stu's bass, but in fact, he was jealous of Stu, especially of Stu's friendship with John." (Dot Rhone)

[rinrinx2]

Let’s Pretend

Toji x Y/N

Summary: Toji needs a fake wife for a mission who better than you.

Warnings: Smut, inappropriate language, talks you through it, mentions of d£ath.

Toji looked at Shui unsure of what his exact reaction should be to the mission he had offered him to complete.

The money he would obtain would be enough to sustain him for the next few months, to allow him to live a soft comfortable life until he would need the next mission to fill his pockets.

“You need to pretend to be a married couple”

He couldn’t deny the money aspect of this mission Shui proposed, the only condition he was unsure about was the requirements this mission had.

Toji was letting Shui’s words hang in the air so that Shui would be able to hear how stupid it sounded.

“Don’t give me that look Toji” Shui said as he pulled out his cigarette cartridge, knocking out one as he placed the stick between his lips.

“I will obviously provide you with the necessary partner to play the role of your wife” He said lighting the cigarette, taking a deep inhale.

“Is it really necessary for me to act like a couple, can’t I just complete this mission alone” Toji said slighted agitated.

“No the client detailed that you need to play the role of a married couple in order to complete the mission, besides think of it as someone who can take half the burden of the mission” Shui said blowing out smoke.

Toji has that look of clear irritation painted on his face, the raised brow, his eyes slightly raised, his top lip twisted into a snarl and his body slightly hunched.

Toji was as lazily as they came but as much as he was lazy he hated any assistance that might be given for a mission. There was a certain way he conducted his missions and having another person would only ruin the system he had perfected.

Shui let out a chuckle taking in Toji’s expression. He had worked long enough with the assassin to know what he was already thinking. But before Toji could protest any further Shui spoke out again.

“You’ll meet her at the necessary location of the mission”

“How will I know it’s her” Toji said eyeing the smoking man.

“You’ll know and Toji formal” Shui said as he dropped the half smoked cigarette as he put it out with his expensive shoes.

Toji sipped at his whiskey leaning against the bar he stood at.

God, I hate this monkey suit

Toji thought slightly flexing against the restraing of the cheap polyester suit he had scrummaged out from some forgotten nook of his wardrobe.

Toji continued to sip at the whiskey, watching as the minutes ticked by on his watch, every minute feeling longer than the last as he waited for his so called partner/ fake wife for the evening.

If she doesn’t pitch soon I’m just gonna kill the fucker needed and head home

So entrapped in his thoughts he hadn’t felt the presences of someone standing beside him. A red flag in itself as if someone was skilled enough to get by him undetected a clear indicator of his partner.

“So, you usually stand here looking obvious?” the voice beside him spoke in a sarcastic tone.

“Do you always take this long to show up to places?” Toji replied back in an even more sarcastic tone as he slightly looked over at the woman who would be his partner for the evening.

From the brief look he took at you, he was impressed. From the black dress highlighting your figure, with curves in all the right places, healthy looking hair, a face that belonged on a screen and an ass that was just begging to get smacked.

“Maybe I should thank Shui” Toji whispered under his breath to himself.

“What was that?” You say turning your head slightly to Toji.

“Oh nothing …. But honey we should get a move on” Toji said putting on the act of your fake husband as his hand went to the small of your back, placing his empty class on the table as he guided you away from the bar.

Toji guided you to the lobby of the busy hotel, as the two of you made your way to the front desk. You remained calm and natural, with a soft smile on your face as you placed your hand on Toji’s chest, as the diamond on your ring finger shown brightly in the warm lighting of the lobby.

“Good evening, we have a booking for the Fushiguro’s”

“Good evening” The front desk man said with a vibrant smile that highlighted his smile lines.

“Ah yes, we have one. For a newly wed couple. I would like to thank you on behalf of our establishment for having your honeymoon here” the middle aged front desk man said with that smile not leaving his face.

“Thank you” Toji said as he took the key from the man’s hand.

“Please be sure to use all our hotel has to offer”

“Don’t worry I’ll make sure to use everything thoroughly” Toji said with a smirk as he eyed you up and down.

The middle aged man kept the smile on his face, trying his best to not react to Toji’s innuendo as you slightly slapped his chest in a playful manner trying to make it seem as Toji and you were simply just a couple in love not to assassins sent out here to murder someone in this lovely hotel.

“Well this is urhm definitely a lovers suite” you announced as you opened the door of your hotel room to reveal a rather interesting room set up.

A massive bed, with a rather larger oak head board that had an interest pattern of diamond shapes carved into it, with coincidentally silk rope decorating the diamond shaped holes. In the corner of the room was a rather large chair that could easily, comfortably seat two people , with one person that could be seated atop of the other.

You look around the room some more, as you felt Toji push into the room beside you.

“Get over it doll face, we got the baby making room. Relax” he said placing the suitcases onto the floor beside the bed.

“Not like you’re gonna make one in here” he said rolling his eyes slightly.

You walked into the room slightly irritated at his comment as you watched him unpack the suitcase that held various guns.

“So, when are we going to take the target out?” You asked approaching Toji.

“Tomorrow at breakfast. His some fat guy, bald head. His apparently dealing in curse objects he stole from some cult he pretended to be in. So, we have to take him out get the objects and that’s that” Toji said as the finished his sentence off rather nonchalantly.

You looked at him with a raise brow, slightly impressed as to how easy he made the mission sound like.

“So, you know why we have to pretend to be a fake couple?” You asked further a slight smile of amusement on your lips as you sat on the bed in front of Toji.

“Nope”

“Well we have to act like a couple because baldy knows you’re single, so Shui suggested we pretend to be a couple on our honeymoon to throw him off it could make it easier for us to get closer to him” you replied with a smirk as the tip of your black heel was now underneath Toji’s chin, causing his gaze to meet yours.

“Well pop the champagne, Shui’s a smart man for a change” Toji replied as he gripped your foot away from under his chin.

“You’re a real fun guy” you said with sarcasm in your voice.

“Sugar tits, as much as I find you attractive and would easily screw you; we have a mission to complete and that’s the goal” Toji said as he starred down at the suitcase placing one gun on the night stand.

You looked at Toji with a smile of impressiveness, you had heard all sorts of stories and rumours about the handsome assassin in front of you ranging from unethical and impractical and yet here he was holding restraint from taking you.

“Come on we need to go to dinner, if we can fool everyone into thinking we’re married it will be easier to take the fat bastard out tomorrow at breakfast, he won’t be suspecting a thing”

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” The waitress asked as she eyes Toji up and down with a smile pressed onto her red lips.

“Nothing at all, but please be sure to ask my wife” he replied not giving much mind to the young woman serving use.

You had to admit Toji was really playing the role of the loyal doting husband. The way he held your hand over the table in view of everyone, to how he attempted to share his food with you.

“I’m fine. Thank you” you replied looking up at the waitress, as you watched her walk away with that smile not budging.

“How many times is that waitress going to come and ask you if you need a refill” You said rolling your eyes slightly.

“You sure are a possessive wife” Toji teased as he bit down on the pasta he was eating at.

“I get it you’re handsome but handsome enough to get this woman come up to us every five minutes to ask to top up your wine you haven’t even touched”

You would’ve continued your rant till a familiar man came up to you and your husband.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but your wife is extremely beautiful. I think I might of seen her on the cover of a magazine”

Fat bald bastard

The lights in Toji’s head shone bright as the target they had to kill was right in front of him.

“Thank you, her beauty is really one of the reasons I married her” Toji replied trying to remain cool and collected as to not suspect the target.

“Well, then on that note I hope you don’t mind if I bought your beautiful wife a drink”

“I’d love that but she only really like to drink in private” Toji replied not wanting you to drink whatever liquid the man would give you unsure if it was laced in case he recognised the two of you.

“Ah please, everytime I see a beautiful woman I have to buy her a drink. Well if you don’t want me to buy her a drink why don’t I send a bottle of champagne to your room” the fat man said with a wide smile as his red cheeks shone like polished balls.

“Sure. We’re room 17 F”

“Why didn’t you just kill the guy when he came to our table?” You asked as you rubbed your lotion into your legs.

“So, the whole restaurant can go into a frenzy and the guys at his table shoot you dead on the floor. No thank. We have to be subtle” Toji replied as he got underneath the sheets.

“Aren’t you thoughtful” you said, as you were about to climb into bed yourself until you realised what you were doing as you starred at Toji.

“What” Toji replied as he felt your eyes on him, unsure of what stopped you from getting into bed until he realised.

“God just get into bed, I’m not going to sleep on the floor. If I had to fork out from my money to pay for this expensive as hotel then I am getting to sleep in the bed. So you either get into bed with me princess or the floor is waiting for you”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance at his words, as you climbed into bed not wanting to have to lay on the cold floor with nothing but your silk slip dress nighty to keep you warm.

“Smart decision” Toji said as he turned his back towards you.

You laid in the dark room for a moment, unable to sleep as you tossed and turned. Your movements not going unnoticed as Toji rolled to face you now.

“I can’t sleep” you whispered to him.

“Just close your eyes”

You huffed out a sigh as you closed your eyes, but still you were unable to fall asleep.

“Still can’t sleep” Toji said with his eyes shut feeling as you were still awake.

“Why don’t we do what husband and wife do to help them go to sleep” Toji said opening his eyes, as you could sense the smirk in his face even in the dark.

“I thought you didn’t want to screw me”

“Well that was before supper, I was hangry and I mean we would only being playing the part we were given for this mission” Toji said as you felt his hand move up your thigh.

“Besides wouldn’t it be obvious that we’re not married if people didn’t hear noises from a honey moon suite”

You breathing became harder, as you listened to Toji’s words trying your best to comprehend what he was saying but the feeling of his calloused hands running up your soft thigh was turning your brain into mush by the second.

You felt as his fingers reached your pantie line, feeling as he played with the lace of the thong you wore.

“Pull them to the side” Toji whispered.

You complied easily not even protesting as your pulled the flimsy fabric away from your pussy, surprised how you were already wet from such a simple action.

“Atta girl” Toji said, as he slowly moved his fingers to your pussy, massaging your pussy lips, revelling in the puffiness of them as he felt the wetness of your slick start to drip out. Gently taking his index finger and pushing it in between your folds as he gathered your slick onto his fingers, pulling his finger out as he smeared it onto your puffy pussy lips.

“You like princess?” Toji whispered into your ear, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing heavily into his chest.

“I’m gonna push my fingers in now” Toji said as he began to move his index and ring finger into your warmth. Pushing the digits in and out of you, feeling the tight wetness around them.

“Enjoy the feeling baby” Toji said in the sweet seductive voice as his other hand came down to the small of your back pressing your closer to him, as he felt your move against him in pleasure.

Toji began to move his fingers faster, feeling as your pussy allowed him to push his fingers deeper in. And they nudged perfectly against that bundle of nerves, Toji chuckling softly as he watched your move around as you writhed with pleasure.

“Found that spot” Toji began to massage that sensitive spot that had you seeing stars. Toji could feel you get close as he felt your pussy get tighter and tighter by the second.

So close to your high, but before you could fall over the edge you felt as he pulled his fingers out. You pulled away from his chest looking up into his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to his lips as he licked your wetness off of them.

“Delicious”

As the words left Tojis lips he began to kiss you passionately, his tongue lapping at yours as you tasted yourself on him.

“Take it out”

And you did as he instructed, pulling his hard member out of his boxers.

“Take your dress off”

You quickly sat up and pulled the silky fabric off your skin.

“Lay back down and turn on your side”

You now laid on your side, feeling as Toji’s hard cock pressed against your ass, his tip slightly leaking pre-cum as his hands began to massage your breasts.

The cool air of the room and the roughness of his hands causing your nipples to be hard and your pussy to get wetter.

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, desperately wanting Toji to fuck you.

“Beg for it”

You breath caught in your throat at his words, like dry and mind muddy with pleasure as you tried to form a sentence.

“Please ~ ah. Please fuck me Toji”

Toji didn’t need to hear another word as he slipped his hard member in, keeping still as he let you adjust to his members size.

You could feel his thick girth filling you up as he knocked against your cervix from his length.

“I’m gonna fuck your brains out now” Toji said as he began to move, slow and steady rhythm, as he pushed his tip slightly out before plunging deep inside you m. The loud sloshing noise of your pussy and whiny moans filling the room.

“That’s it take my cock. Feel it fucking fill you up”

Your mind a puddle of pleasure as your pussy was now being rammed by his thick cock as his hands squeezed and pulled at your breast, feeling his hot breath against your neck as he fucked you from behind.

“You like being fucked like you my wife”

Toji said biting on your ear, as he moved faster, feeling your slick drip down his thighs. Toji could tell you were getting closer by how your moans became louder and more desperate and from the way your pussy was starting to milk him.

“I’m gonna cum in you, so cum for me princess”

Toji’s hand came down to your clit, as he rubbed the swollen bud trying to get you finish on his cock faster. Rubbing the slick bud up and down.

“That’s it right there”

Toji could feel his own high reaching as his balls began to constrict and relax a clear sign his hot cum was ready to shoot out, as it moved up his shaft.

The feeling of Toji’s cock stuffing you and his fingers playing with your clit became to much as you felt your pussy tighten around his cock. Toji felt as you came hard, shoving his cock as deep as he could in you.

“Fuck yes baby”

Toji growled out as he felt himself shoot ropes of hot cum into you, feeling as he painted your insides a nice pearly white.

Suddenly without any warning your bedroom door came swinging open.

“I decided to bring your champagne myself I hope I’m not disturbing”

Without another thought Toji grabbed the gun he had left on the nightstand shooting the fat bald bastard down in one swift motion as the champagne bottle came falling down to the floor, the liquid spilling all over the carpeted floor.

You turned your head over your shoulder looking at Toji, with his cock still buried deep inside you, as you tried to catch your breath.

“So much for subtle death”

.

.

.

Hope you like it <3

All rights reserved to @rinrinx2

[maxislvt]

I've been thinking so much about omega Wanda and alpha reader and I was thinking about omega Wanda buying alpha reader hoodies and stitching in her last name on the chest just to show that Reader is hers, it started off as just a small w.m on the sleeve but then it grew and moved to the left side of reader's chest where Wanda always places her hand when she leans in to give a little peck to reader throughout the day

warnings: omegaverse, nonsexual dominance, suggestive

i wrote this in like 2 hours

As much as you hated to admit it, your wardrobe needed upgrading. Before Wanda, you were all work and no play and your clothes reflected that. All the formal attire you had was bought at the last minute for missions and barely fit. All your lounge clothes were just workout clothes you felt comfortable to sleep in. You had four pairs of shoes and two of them were technically a part of your costume. 

It was only a matter of time before Wanda had to intervene. 

“Sweetheart, I understand that these clothes mean a lot to you but you have to get rid of something to make space for new stuff,” Wanda said. She was having a hard time getting through to you. Alphas were quite territorial and had a hard time letting go of their things. She understood why to a certain extent. These were the clothes your mother had given you when you were rescued. It wasn’t easy for Wanda to get rid of them either, but some of your clothes were barely holding together. “Look at this,” she gasped. “I can fit my head through this hole!” Wanda put the hoodie over her head to show the truth of her statement. 

You chuckled at the sight of Wanda. “Can’t you just patch it up? There’s no point in buying a new one if it does what it’s supposed to.” You simply shrugged when Wanda groaned. The need for new clothes wasn’t above you, but admittedly you didn’t know how to go shopping for clothes. “Look, I’ll get new clothes but I’m not going to just toss all of the stuff I got already.” You began putting your clothes back on the hanger. It was easier said than done considering Wanda kept snatching clothes away from you. Some of them you let go, but when it came to a particular leather jacket, you refused to let it go. “Nuhuh” — you pulled the jacket back towards you — “I’m keeping this one.” 

Wanda pulled back. “It’s not even real leather. I promise you we’ll find a better one when we go shopping.” She was usually careful with your things, but the leather was peeling and the sleeves were stretched to their limit. She wouldn’t blink twice if it ripped in half right now. You were far too cute to be caught dead in such a tattered piece of clothing. She tugged at it again. “We’ll get you a new one,” she said, this time her words were more pronounced. A clear warning.

Of course, you were just as stubborn as Wanda. You wanted your jacket. Not a new one, not a better one — it had to be that jacket. “You’re not the boss of me. I want to keep the jacket and that’s final.” You said as you finally yanked the jacket free from Wanda’s grasp. You had the jacket, but now there was a bigger problem. Wanda wasn’t too pleased with your defiance. “Look Wanda I—”

“Bend over, and you better not miscount.”

After a brief conversation, you and Wanda agreed to go shopping. 

Wanda wanted you to explore different stores so you find clothes that interested you, but she wanted to get the essentials first. That unfortunately meant spending a dreadfully long time in a tailor. To make matters worse, it was 8 am on a Saturday. That was when you usually woke up, but that was for training. Not for playing dress up. The tailor was nice, but no amount of kindness could make you less upset about the detour in your schedule. The worst part was that Wanda insisted that you have plenty of accessories to go along with the new suits you bought. You were too upset to even bother looking for regular clothes. Wanda agreed to take you home after the fitting, but she hated seeing you upset. 

Wanda knew she had to apologize and there was only one way to do it.

It was supposed to be just the one jacket. It was a decently priced repair and sewing her name initials on it was a quick process. Then she found a few of your old hoodies and got a little carried away. Each time her name got bigger and bigger. By the fifth one, her last name covered the entire backside. She was thankful only a handful of your hoodies were truly salvageable. Once she was done, she simply placed them back into your closet while you were off on a mission. 

You noticed that they were back in your room almost immediately. The thought of Wanda owning you so blatantly made you blush, but you liked it. You began wearing them all around the tower. Whether it was a debriefing or while you were working out. It felt good knowing you were owned.

Wanda was just hoping for a little more.

“When I made these, I was thinking you’d wear them outside.” She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and snuggled into your neck. Wanda’s lips brushed against the mark she left on your neck months ago. “We’re not a secret anymore.”

You let out a deep breath to keep calm. “I’m more worried people will try and copy the design.” It wouldn’t be the only time a company copied something of yours for hero merchandise. “I love them, but all it takes is one picture of me in this thing, and suddenly everyone has one.” Your head leaned back against her chest. Sometimes you wished you were just a stay-at-home alpha. You had no idea how to take care of a home, but you’d be more than willing to figure it out if Wanda could have you to herself.

[phoward89]

Banner by me, dividers by @saradika

Based on this ask

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Some cussing. Talks of prostitution. Manipulation. Implied forced body modification/mutilation. Mentions of murder/poison.

Now That We Don't Talk

The chill in the air made you shiver as you walked down the sidewalk towards Tigris’ boutique. Like every Wednesday you were meeting her for brunch. You only wished that you opted to take Coriolanus up on his offer to have the chauffeur take you since the winter winds were a bit harsh today. Of course, you declined his offer, telling him that you were meeting his cousin at her boutique this midmorning instead of the cafe where you usually went for your brunches with the kind hearted stylist.

Coryo wasn't happy with your answer but he accepted it nevertheless. He also told you to wear your new fur coat, the one he got you less than a month ago, since Lucretius ‘Lucky’ Flickerman's weather report predicted a cold, wintery day with the possibility of light snowfall. 

After agreeing to wear the luxury fur coat (your fiance said it was a rare fur, Russian sable, and that you were the only in the Capitol to have it), Coriolanus rose from the dining room table only to give you a kiss on your temple and prepare to leave for an early morning meeting with some political strategist for his campaign.

Yes, your man was running for president of Panem. 

Holding your coat closer together with your glove covered hand, you walked a tad bit faster. You were grateful that the walk to Tigris’ boutique wasn't too far from the penthouse you shared with Coriolanus. Meaning you didn't have to brave the cold too long. You hated the cold, but with how you were raised it's only a given that you'd hate it.

Upon seeing the scrolling print sign for Tigris' boutique swinging in the wind, you felt a sense of relief. In a matter of moments you'd be warm.

“Tigris, I'm here!” You called out to the blonde as soon as you set foot into the shop.

A girl with bubble gum pink hair was at the front counter of the shop. She smiled at you as her boss, Tigris, emerged from the back. You exchanged warm greetings and hugs before she ushered you down a hall and up the stairs that led to her condo.

“I'm sorry that we couldn't go to the cafe, but between requests and designing a new wardrobe for the victory tour, I've been swamped.” Tigris sweetly apologized for your change in plans as you removed your fur coat. 

“It's fine, Tigris. I don't mind having brunch here.” You replied with a smile while hanging the coat up on the corner rack by the door.

The stylist's eyes took in the luxury fur hanging by her door and asked, “That's not the coat from my new line that I made for you. Did Coriolanus get it for you?”

“Yes.” You nodded, going over to the plush sofa. “He gave it to me a few weeks ago and insisted that I wear it today.” You innocently said, not understanding the true meaning behind Coriolanus’ actions.

Bless your heart, but you were innocent and you'd never think that your loving and caring boyfriend would do anything to hurt anyone, especially his cousin. But…that wasn't the case and his true reason for making telling you to wear your new Russian sable coat was to slight his cousin. To hurt Tigris since he knew she gave you the light pink peacoat with faux fur collar from her new line as a holiday gift.

Tigris weakly smiled, feeling sick to her stomach that you were so sweet and being led to the slaughter by her cold and calculating cousin, as she went to the kitchen to grab the charcuterie board she had prepared earlier for your brunch along with making the two of you some mimosas.

When she returned, she set the items on the coffee table only for you to frown and tell her, “You didn't put any alcohol in the orange juice, did you? Coryo doesn't like it when I drink outside of galas or when he's not with me.”

Tigris gave you a long look of disbelief, only to sigh, “He doesn't have to know you had a mimosa in my condo. What's brunch without mimosas?”

Shaking your head, you refused the drink. “He told me not to drink it so I won't. Please, just get me a plain orange juice.”

Tigris sighed heavily and was about to give into your request, but changed her mind whenever a large shiny diamond ring on your left ring finger caught her attention. 

No.

No, you couldn't be.

Grabbing yout hand, she looked between you and the very large ring. “When did you start wearing this?”

“Coriolanus proposed last night.” You beamed, pulling your hand out of your friend's hold only to flick your hand up and admire the ring on your finger. “Coryo says it's one of a kind. That he designed it special for me.” Pointing to the ring, you explained the ring's design. “The large diamond in the middle's a rare pink diamond and all the white diamonds on the side are marquises. It's supposed to be a pink rose because those are my favorite flowers.”

Tigris felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach at hearing you happily tell her about the shackle her ruthless cousin had slipped on your finger hours ago.

She always thought that Coriolanus would grow bored of using you as his plaything and return you to your family. The star designer assumed that her cousin would push you away once he announced his intent to run as the youngest president of Panem. Tigris assumed that Coriolanus would spurn you because of your district background and latch onto a woman of impeccable Capitol breeding in his unquenchable thirst for power.

But she was wrong.

Coriolanus proposed and you said yes. 

Now Tigris knew that she had to warn you about him if you had any chance of escaping him. Any chance at happiness. You weren't just her cousin's girlfriend fiance, but a dear friend of hers and she wanted you to be safe.

You'd never be safe with Coriolanus.

So, with a sad look in her soft blue eyes, the blonde woman told you, “Sweetheart, there's things about Coriolanus you don't know, but need to know.”

“Like what, Tigris?” You innocently asked, assuming that she was going to tell you a childhood story or something.

But what she told you wasn't a childhood story. No, what she told you made your eyes pop out of your head. Tigris, to your utter shock and horror, revealed all of Coriolanus' sins to you. 

Sins that he never wanted you to know because he never wanted you to see him as anything but your loving and protective Coryo. 

When Coriolanus came home you were in the kitchen finishing dinner. The smell had his mouth watering as he hung up his heavy maroon coat. He smiled to himself just thinking about how you'd never have to lift another finger in the kitchen ever again once he became president.

You'd have an entire kitchen full of the best private chefs for that. You'd be able to fill your evenings reading your ancient books and watching those trashy Capitol tv shows you enjoyed so much. Oh, and pleasing him at every whim.

“Dinner smells good, darling.” Coriolanus told you, stepping into the kitchen.

You nearly jumped, feeling a bit snuck up on, as you heard his baritone fill the air. You prayed that he didn't notice your jumpiness, but he did. 

“What's wrong?” He asked, coming up behind you to wrap an arm around your waist in a comforting way.

But what should've felt like a comforting gesture didn't. In fact, his touch made you feel sick. His hands, covered in so much blood from all the murders he committed to rise up the political ranks, felt foreign as they touched you. His touch was that of the angel of death; not a lover, or at least that's how it felt after hearing his cousin’s damning words of warning earlier.

Shaking your head, you weakly assured him, “I'm fine, just tired’s all.”

“I told you, my darling rose, that you should've had the driver take you to Tigris’ for brunch. That it was too cold out for you to walk.” Coriolanus remarked before letting you go. “If you're getting ready to plate our food, I'll pour us some drinks.”

The thought of him pouring you a drink had you choking on air. Tigris' earlier words washed over you.

“He poisons people he deems as disposable or a threat to him, sweetheart. He offers them a drink and watches them die to tie up his loose ends.”

Before you knew what was happening, you were pushing past your fiance (nearly knocking him on his ass) and running out of the kitchen to the bathroom.

Concerned, Coriolanus followed you only to find you hunched over the toilet coughing and spitting up bile. Going over to the vanity, he turned on the sink and grabbed a small washcloth from the drawer they were stored in. He ran the white cloth under the cool water for a few moments before turning off the faucet and wringing out the washcloth. 

Bending down next to you, he tucked your hair behind your ear and ran the cool cloth over your face. “Are you okay, darling? You're not coming down with something, are you?”

He couldn't help but hope that he knocked you up. He wanted nothing more than to tie you to him forever with a baby. Having a child with him would be more of a life binding contract then marriage. But he knew that morning sickness usually happened, well, in the morning.

His icy blue eyes looked at you with concern. Believe it or not, the cold man with a too small black heart truly did care about you and your well-being. Truth be told, you and the cat you twisted his arm into adopting were the only things on God's green earth that he gave a fuck about. 

Hell, he didn't even give a shit about his own cousin these days, given how cold she was to him once he returned from his summer stint in District 12 as a peacekeeper all those years ago. Only reason he hasn't cut her off yet is because of you and how much you adore the fashionista bitch.

“I'm fine, just a bit tired.” You lied. Truth was you weren't fine. The fact that your fiance was a murderer that might end up poisoning you to get rid of you because of your inferior birth made your stomach churn. 

Yes, Tigris had told you that Coriolanus looked down on district people. That he was disgusted by them and viewed them to be lower than gutter rats. She told you that she thought he would've grown tired of you, but now feared what he'd do to you since he wanted to marry you.

She told you that she felt her cousin had no real intentions on marrying you. That she was afraid he'd poison you (kill you) to gain sympathy and higher polling numbers for his campaign.

Now the blonde woman's words ran wild thru your head and you couldn't even look at the platinum blonde man who owned your heart the same way again. 

“Perhaps you should go rest in our room.” Coriolanus suggested, thinking maybe some rest would make you feel better.

Coriolanus was wrong. Rest didn't make you feel better. Nothing made you feel better. In fact, in the days after your brunch with Tigris you started to pull away from him.

At first it was subtle, but then it became painfully obvious to him that you were pulling away. Especially when you stopped calling him Coryo. That's when he knew he no longer owned your heart.

Something was wrong and it drove him insane not knowing what it was. He couldn't figure out what had changed so drastically. It's as if you looked at him with undying love one day and then suddenly woke up to look at him with a fearful love the next.

A fearful love…

Damnit!

Did something scare you? Did somebody tell you something to make you shrink into yourself and become a shell? If they did, well, they'd pay for it. 

Pay with their life.

He decided that he was confronting you tonight about being so distant. He was getting to the bottom of your problems because over a week of you not being the woman he fell for was enough. Coriolanus couldn't handle you pulling away from him anymore.

Goddamnit, he's gone too long without fucking you. 

Enough was enough.

“Darling, we need to talk.” Coriolanus told you as soon as he got home from work. 

You stared at him from your spot on the sofa as he hung up his coat. “About what?” You asked, your eyes flickering back to the book you had in your hand. It was an old one from the ancient pre-Panem days. Your fiance got it for you at some high-end auction house.

“Us.” The word was clipped as he let it out of his mouth. 

You refused to look at Coriolanus as he crossed the room. Instead, you kept your eyes glued to the pages of Pride & Prejudice. 

“Did I do something to make you pull away from me?” You heard him ask while stopping in front of you. 

“No.” You half lied. He didn't do anything to you (yet), but it was the sins he committed in the past that had your head spinning. Deciding you didn't want to get into it with him, you simply said, “I'm not pulling away from you, Coriolanus. I've just been tired’s all.”

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not-” You began only for him to loom over you and shout, “Yes you are!” 

The pressure had finally gotten to him. He finally snapped. 

Yanking the book out of your hands and tossing it somewhere across the room, he ranted, “You won't call me Coryo anymore, my darling. You've been pulling away from me for over a week now and I need to know why. I miss the way you used the look at me, darling. Hell, I miss the way we used to be.” 

Your eyes fell to the floor as you sighed, “I told you, I've just been tired.”

That was the wrong answer. 

You should've told him the truth…

Coriolanus grabbed you by your upper arms with a tight, bruising force and pulled you to your feet, all the while yelling, “Stop fucking lying to me, darling! I can't handle your distance and lies anymore!” His chest wildly heaved up and down in anger as he added in, “I want to know what I did to make you stop loving me, my darling rose.”

You never stopped loving him and told him as much, which only prompted him to ask why you've been pulling away from him.

So now the truth you've been keeping from him flowed out of your mouth like a raging river.

“Tigris saw my ring and told me that you didn't mean to go thru with marrying me. That you'd just poison and kill me to boost votes for your campaign and gain sympathy as being the heartbroken lover.” 

“What?” Coriolanus blinked his baby blues. He removed his hands from your arms, only to take your hands in his and lead you to sit down on the sofa. A soft look washed over his face as he assured you, “I'd never do that to you, darling." 

Shaking your head, you cried, “She says that you've killed before for power and to climb the political ladder, Coriolanus.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you wailed, “And she told me that you're disgusted by district people, Coriolanus. That you view us as lower than gutter rats.” 

It was true that he thought district people were scum, but it wasn't true that he viewed you that way. You weren't scum to him. You were better than where you were born. Hell, you lived in the Capitol for so long now that he doesn't even consider you District anymore.

“Tigris says that I don't matter to you; that you don't love me and will marry a girl of proper Capitol breeding once you dump poison in my drink.”

How dare his cousin tell you that he didn't love you?! He did love you. Hell, he was more obsessed with you then he ever was with the lying, treacherous, traitor, snake charmer of a whore singer he nearly destroyed his life over.

No, he loved you with everything he had inside of him. Despite being a dark creature that had no problems killing to get, keep, and maintain power, he truly did love you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him and he knew that he couldn't let his cousin turn you against him. 

Coriolanus wanted, no needed, to be your Coryo again and he'd say anything to make it happen.

“I wish you would've told me what Tigris told you as soon as it happened, my darling rose.” Coriolanus sighed while wrapping his arms around you. Pulling you against his chest, his silver tongue weaved its magic with the perfect words to turn you against Tigris. “She's jealous that nobody wants her because, despite her impeccable reputation as a stylist, a lot of men remember that years ago she used to sell her body on the black market. Tigris is also upset that she became a stylist because I told Dr. Gaul that the tributes needed uniforms and interview outfits.” Threading his fingers thru your soft hair, he added in the final words he needed to make Tigris look like the villain in this story. “She's upset that it was me who made her who she is. Made her a star designer. And she's jealous that I have somebody when she doesn't because of some choices she made before I could make her stylist dreams come true.”

“I never knew Tigris sold herself.” You gasped, clearly a bit horrified at the thought of your friend doing sexual favors with men for money. 

A large smug smirk spreads over Coriolanus' face as he continues to hold you close to his chest. Oh, he knew that he had you right where he wanted you. He had to lay it on thick so he'd be able to reel you in; have you under his thumb again. But he planned on having you look at him like you used to. He'd say and do anything to accomplish that too.

His voice quivered as he put on an act worthy of an academy award. “My darling rose, we don't talk anymore and it's killing me. The possibility of losing you because of some lies my jealous whore of a cousin told you because she's alone and miserable is heartbreaking.” He sucked in a breath, making you think that he was trying to prevent himself from breaking down, only to confess in a broken timbre, “I miss making love to you, darling.”

The phrase making love made his skin crawl as if spiders were underneath the epidermis, but he knew that to manipulate you back into his arms then he had to say it. After all, making love sounds more poetic than fucking your goddamn brains out does.

You lifted your head off his chest, only to look up into his icy blue eyes. Eyes that looked pitiful, like a kicked puppy’s, as he poured his heart out to you.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible, my darling rose. You consume me and losing you would destroy me. Turn me into a monster.” Coriolanus truthfully admitted. He wasn't lying about that, he was obsessed with you and knew deep down that if he ever lost you then he'd become a monster deadlier than anything that ever came out of Dr. Gaul's lab. 

And that was scary considering at the moment he had no morals, just the compass of his late father to guide him.

His large, calloused hand cupped your cheek as he swore, “I will never hurt you, Y/N. And I will never ever kill you or try to.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, only to rest his forehead on yours and confess. “I love you, my darling rose.”

That phrase was one he never thought he'd utter, but he did it to reel you in. To make sure that you never left his side. He needed you just like he needed air to breathe, so if he had to make himself a bit weak by saying the love word to you then so be it.

Hearing him say ‘I love you, my darling rose’ made your fears and doubts about him fly right out the window. He'd never said that to you before, not until now, and you knew he meant it. That he said it because he loved you and didn't want you to leave him.

But you could never leave him. You loved him too much.

“I love you too, Coryo.” You softly smiled, looking at your hand still holding his.

Hearing you call him Coryo again was the signal Coriolanus needed to let him know that he'd won. You were once again his and under his control.

“I'm sorry I was being distant. I was just scared.” You apologized, feeling foolish for pushing your fiance away over hearsay.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, your fiance told you, “I know you were, darling. I only wished that you came to me so I could put your fears to rest.”

You believed that he loved you and wouldn't do you any harm, but you were still curious about one thing. “Coryo, have you poisoned people to climb up the political ladder; for power?”

“Of course not, Y/N.” He firmly denied, only to add in the rhetorical question of, “And why would I want to kill my political allies? Makes no sense, darling.”

Yes, why would he want to kill his political allies? You couldn't help, but think that he'd need his political connections alive since they'd be able to help him in elections better breathing than pushing up daisies. 

What you didn't know was that Coriolanus craved power and would kill anyone to get it and keep it. Didn't matter who they were. But…you didn't need to know that.

All you needed to know was that he'd NEVER kill you.

“Yea, it doesn't make any sense.” You innocently agreed with your fiance.

Looking between you and the clock on the wall, he suggested, “We still have half an hour before the Justice Building closes for the night. Let's go have the Magistrate marry us.”

“You want to get married tonight?” You asked, wide-eyed, with a mix of excitement and disbelief in your voice.

No.

No, he didn't want to get married tonight. In fact, Coriolanus wanted to marry you in a lavish ceremony dripping in diamonds, gold, roses, and silk bunting in the presidential palace right after winning the election. But…he knew that Tigris made you doubt his intentions of making you Mrs. First Lady Snow so the only way to scrub that from your mind was to marry you right away.

“Yes.” He nodded. Pulling you to your feet, he simply instructed, “Go put on that white dress you wore for the winter gala, Mrs. Snow.”

The following morning Tigris’ heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she read the main headline in the political section of the newspaper.

Presidential Frontrunner Now A Family Man- Senator Coriolanus Snow & Long Time Girlfriend Wed Last Night In Private Ceremony

Tigris mourned for the loss of your freedom, of your life. She has no idea why you didn't heed her warnings, but she wished you did.

Before she could start to read the article, a knock sounded at her door. When she answered it, she found a pair of peacekeepers at her door. They told her that they had strict orders from Senator Snow to escort her to a very important appointment he had made for her. 

It was an appointment that would change the rest of her life and if she knew what it was for, maybe she would've tried to run from the peacekeepers her cousin had doing his dark bidding.

You hadn't seen Tigris since you married Coriolanus. He said that it was for the best. Of course, you believed him. He married you when she said he wouldn't. Coriolanus had proved her a liar.

It's been roughly 5 months since you've been Mrs. Snow and you couldn't be happier, especially since you were expecting your first child with Coryo.

A baby boy.

A baby boy the two of you decided to name Cassian Xandros. It was to keep up the Snow tradition of the first born son having the initials C.X.S.

You thought it was so sweet how your husband wanted to uphold his family's traditions.

Too bad he didn't let you uphold any of the traditions you grew up with. Mhm…

“Are we still going to be on this campaign tour during the games?” You asked your husband, who was sitting in an armchair, sipping on coffee and reading the paper, in the luxury train carriage you shared.

“We’ll go back to the Capitol for the games; then we'll continue the campaign tour.” He explained while turning the page of his newspaper.

You were reading your favorite book, Pride & Prejudice, whenever Coriolanus stood up and walked over to where you were resting on the sofa. Folding the paper, so only one page was visible, he handed it to you and solemnly said, “Darling, you need to see this.”

“What is it? A drop in your poll numbers?” You innocently asked, setting your book aside and reaching for the paper.

“No, it's something very unsettling.” He said as you took the paper from his large hand.

You wondered what was so unsettling in the paper, but soon got your answer as you read the headline in the current events column.

Star Stylist Tigris Has Transformed Into Her Namesake, A Tiger

As if that wasn't enough, the picture of her transformed face made you gasp. She no longer looked like herself, but truly did look like a tiger. She had plastic surgery and tattoos to modify her face, neck, and chest. Black lines zig zagged all over her and her once blue eyes were now a bright yellow with thick, sweeping liner. She even had whisker implants and her upper lip split to mimic the mouth of a cat. Even her hair was different. The once light blonde locks now had chunk black highlights in it. 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Why would she do that? She was so pretty…

You must've asked your question out loud, because the next thing you know your husband's sitting next to you, sighing, “I don't know why, my darling rose. She was pretty, but now nobody will ever want her.” Taking the paper from you and passing you back your book, he knowingly said, “If only she didn't tell you lies; try to break us up. Then she wouldn’t be alone.”

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies

[flemingsfreckles]

Personal Shopper

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Synopsis: based off this request of reader helping Jessie shop for new clothes

Warnings: nothing, it’s fluffy

WC: 1.2k

A/N: here’s some fluff to ease your mind with all the angst I’ve put out recently :)

“I feel like I look silly.” Jessie voice came over the top of the dressing room.

“Just show me.” You were sat outside on a bench, waiting patiently for your girlfriend to try on and show you the mountain of clothes you had picked out for her.

“No.”

“Jessie come on!” You encouraged her. “Just let me see.”

It was no secret to anyone that Jessie could use some wardrobe help, you had heard her teammates tease her for years, she even mentioned it herself on numerous occasions. She was quick to pick up a sweatshirt and throw on the same black Nike shirt and black hat that she always wore. When it came to fancier clothing, she was even worse, owning a couple of plain button ups and a few pairs of solid color slacks.

After she had complained one too many times about her wardrobe and not knowing what to wear, for your own liking. So you had taken her to various stores, spent hours looking through racks and piles of clothing, trying to find something for the Canadian.

She cracked open the door. Peaking out at you, “Don’t laugh please.”

You shake your head at her, “I won’t, I’m never going to laugh at you for trying something on.”

She opens the door fully for you to see her outfit. She had thrown on a plain black shirt, more tightly fitting than her regular choice of shirt. The shirt showed off more of her figure than her standard Nike black shirt. She had also put on a nice pair of pants. Black and white in a small checkered print.

“Oh wow.” You can’t help but let the words fall out of your mouth when your eyes scan Jessie head to toe. It wasn’t often that you got to see her dressed up.

“Stop.” She gives you a firm look.

“No babe, it looks so good.” You admire her for another second before looking to her face. She looked uncomfortable. “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t know, it’s just,” she turns back to the mirror to look at herself. “It’s different.”

“Okay.” You come up to rub her shoulders. “If you’re uncomfortable in it, don’t buy it because then you’ll never wear it. But it looks nice, so if you’re just uncomfortable because it’s new, then that’s okay.”

“I like the shirt.”

“Jess it’s a plain black shirt of course you like it.”

“Yeah but the fit is different, it’s tighter.” It was, her biceps were being restrained by the fabric, it was tight across her chest and shoulders, it looked good, a little too good given you were in public.

“Alright, try it on with another pair of bottoms then.” You push her in the direction of the changing room. She out a huff but closes the door and changes again.

Jessie hadn’t been super thrilled when you dragged her from store to store, she knew she wanted new clothes, a new style but it was the actual act of shopping and trying on that she hated so much. You on the other hand were thrilled Jessie had finally asked for your help.

You didn’t mind her clothes, they were never an issue to you, but they were an issue to Jessie which then made them your issue when she would come to you asking to borrow your clothes because she didn’t want to wear anything she had. You liked seeing her in your clothes, but you decided it was time she was happy with her own wardrobe.

The issue was not just having clothes but it was the fact that Jessie didn’t know how she wanted to dress. To be fair to her, the majority of her life is spent in athletic clothing, a game kit, training kit, or in some form of a team branded shirt, sweatshirt, or sweatpants. When she’d get home from training or a game she’d usually slip into another pair of athletic shorts or sweats, only throwing on jeans and a simple shirt if you were going out.

“I think I like these better.” Jessie opens the door, she’s got on the same black shirt, now paired with a pair of maroon dress slacks.

“Those look nice on you.” You let her look at herself in the mirror again, she turns looking at the back of the pants. “They make your ass look good, don’t worry.” You give her a smile in the mirror as she rolls her eyes.

She looks at them for a couple more seconds, contemplating the pants. “I think I’ll get these.” She finally decides. “And the shirt.”

“Okay take them off, put your jeans back on and try this on.” You had her a couple of linen button up shirts.

“Ughhh.” She groaned as she turned back into the dressing room, the linen shirts in her hand.

Jessie comes out in the sage green shirt, her jeans from home back on. She’s got a smile on her face.

“You like it?” You ask, hopeful based on her smile.

“Yeah, it actually feels comfortable, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing a costume or someone else’s clothes.” Jessie looks at you for your opinion.

“That color looks good on you.”

“Yeah it’s different but I like it.” You could see the genuine smile on her face, it made you happy, seeing her satisfied with something she was trying on. She spins in the mirror one more time before closing the door behind her.

She comes out a moment later with the maroon pants, black shirt and linen shirt in one hand. The black and white checkered pants in the other. Jessie places the black and white pants back on the rack and then makes her way over to the display of linen shirts. You watch as she picks up one in white, blue, black, and a coral color adding them to the pile of clothes she was holding.

Jessie must’ve noticed the strange look you gave her as she turned around with the shirts in her arms. “What?”

“Nothing.” You say with a small shake to your head.

“I like the shirt, it’s comfortable. I’m ready to check out.” She knew you were questioning the fact that she just grabbed four identical shirts to the one already in her hand.

“I know.” You hold your arms out to her to offer to hold the shirts. “Whatever you want babe.” Sure it wasn’t what you had in mind when you had taken her shopping but at least she was walking out with something new that she liked, you couldn’t complain too much.

You watched as Jessie checked out, refusing to let you pay for any of the clothing for her. She did however make you carry the bags with all the clothes, which you did happily.

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 5 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): homophobia is still a theme. another dead relative mentioned. smoking cigarettes.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 6

You'd decided to do nothing about Cady's infiltration for now. Or, well, Regina had told you she'd figure it out and given firm instruction to not do anything.

You didn't exactly like that. Then again, you didn't have any better ideas. Obviously, you wanted her to not be around Regina. It was wrong that she was friends with her under the pretence that she was looking for reasons to stab her in the back. Then again, she didn't need reasons. Regina had provided plenty already.

As September dragged along and eventually turned to October, it felt as if day by day your mind split into an exponentially growing number of pieces. Your desire to protect Regina battled with the fact that she had been wrong so many times, had really hurt people. Didn't they deserve some reparation? Didn't Regina deserve forgiveness? Was any of that for you to decide?

You would have to pick a side and make your stance known, eventually. You'd have to plant your feet firmly on the territory you really believed in. Only, you dreaded that you didn't have as much agency as you'd have liked.

Were you weak or strong for always sticking by someone? What would become of you if you didn't stand up for what you thought was right and wrong? Where was the line?

You didn't want to side with Janis and her lackeys. The more you looked at it, the parallel between them—Janis and Regina—started to become obvious. Janis and Regina weren't that different at all.

What did you even want? What could you want? You didn't have answers to those questions.

The weather was getting colder, so you'd shuffled your wardrobe quite a bit. Short-sleeved flannels and tee shirts were replaced by cotton undershirts and grandpa sweaters. Literal grandpa sweaters. You'd gotten the majority of them from your grandfather's closet, which he had left for you in his will. It was a joke you two had shared, that you looked better in his clothes than he did.

Regina certainly didn't think so.

"Those sweaters are fucking ugly." She put it bluntly, chewing on some gum as she surfed channels on your TV. She'd taken to spending a lot of time at yours recently. You guessed it had to do with her dad being home and her friends no longer being trustworthy.

"They were my gramps'." You pouted and slumped onto the couch next to her. Since your first sleepover, the distance between your bodies had gotten smaller each time. Your knees almost touched.

"The emotional baggage makes them even frumpier." She glanced at you before looking back at the TV. "You'd be better off framing them."

"I like them, Reg." You settled back and turned your attention to the screen as well. "I don't tell you what to wear."

"If you did we wouldn't be friends." She quipped, finally settling on just shutting the thing off. "Now, what's up with you?"

"Nothing." You didn't want to talk about it. You doubted you could talk about something like that and both remain calm. You hated shouting. It always made you cry, no matter the situation. You could've been the angriest you'd ever been, not sad at all, and still cry.

"Fine. Be stubborn." She huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm going to Aaron's Halloween Party."

"Are you?" You turned and blinked at her. "Cool, I guess."

"You know how everybody, like, dresses sexy? It's like the whole point of Halloween, yeah? Cady's from Kenya. She doesn't know that. She thinks Halloween's supposed to be scary."

"Isn't it, though?"

"Ugh, for kids it is. We're practically adults. Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." Regina recited as if from a book. "Karen's words."

"She's very wise, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." Regina mused.

"You ever told her that?"

"No, she'd get a big head."

"Karen Shetty would get a big head." You said, disbelieving.

"They want what I have so bad," Regina said. "I have to keep them on their toes."

"Are they even your friends? Or do you keep them close to control them?" You sat up straighter, some dots connecting. "Is that why you got Cady to join you? Because she was too pretty to go unchecked?"

"So you think she's pretty." Regina shifted closer, your knees really touching now. You tried to contain your excitement.

"I feel that's pretty obvious." You leaned in also, almost without noticing yourself. She was like a magnet.

"She had potential. If she were to realize it, who knows what she would've gotten up to."

"You made her realize that. That's a self-fulfilling prophecy if I've ever heard one."

"What do you know about prophecies?"

"I know that if I scoped a threat, I wouldn't make them stronger." You licked your lips nervously. "Keeping an eye on her is one thing, but you've made her an enemy."

"Fine, sure, whatever. Now, I'm gonna bring her down. She's gonna humiliate herself by showing up to the party all scary-looking, and then I'm gonna kiss Aaron Samuels." She grinned and blew a bubble. The thin pink of the bubblegum complimented her eyes.

"Why? To make her jealous? Because she wants something you had?"

"To establish dominance."

"I dunno, Reg." You sighed, rubbing a hand down your face. "You're making an enemy."

"It's what I do best, jorts. Just watch." She got up and headed for the kitchen. Hated to see her leave, loved to watch her go.

So, you watched. You watched her hatch her plans, how she deliberately kept Karen from talking to Cady about high school Halloween party etiquette, which seemed like a challenging task indeed, and how her leash on Gretchen tightened to an impossible degree.

You sat alone in the computer room the night of the party, trying to build a profitable amusement park and failing miserably. Your heart wasn't in it. Not even gaming could take your mind off of Regina.

She was probably kissing Aaron Samuels right now. Right now, their lips were sealed together in a nasty French kiss that surely repulsed anybody close enough to hear the slurping and suckling that came from the union. Aaron was probably on her, touching her everywhere he could get his grubby paws, shamelessly licking at the roof of her mouth like a dog.

While the thought of the jock being a bad kisser soothed you somewhat, it didn't cure the clenching in your chest. Fuck, it was stupid that this hurt you. It wasn't even real, she was using him to get to Cady, but the mere thought of them like that made you want to puke.

You watched the chaos unfold the next morning. At lunch, Janis herded you to their table near the back. You were barely listening, too busy glowering in the general direction of the jock table. Cady was officially on board now, you were told. Regina had officially gone too far for her and now their real plans could commence.

"Hey, dude, are you even listening?" Janis punched you on the shoulder. You glared and punched back.

"No. Yes, I- what did you say? Something about Homecoming."

"Yes!" Janis practically hissed, looking a little manic. You looked at Damien, who was eyeing you suspiciously. "We're spraying water on her when she's inevitably crowned Homecoming queen. Cady's also replacing her moisturizer with lard. Can you think of anything?"

What, you were supposed to contribute to bringing Regina down? She was kidding, right? She continued to stare holes in you.

"Uh..." You swallowed. "I'm not really an ideas guy. I can help in other ways?" You squeaked, desperately wanting out of this whole thing.

"Ugh, you're boring." Janis groaned, slumping against Damien.

"Good talk." You said hastily as you got up. "I'm going to smoke a cigarette now." So acutely uncomfortable, you talked like a robot.

"Can you gimme one?" Janis perked up.

"No, she can't." Damien cast a look at Janis. "We agreed, remember? Smoking only at the garage."

You took that opportunity to skedaddle. They bickered like an old married couple. Though there was no romantic chemistry between them, they were obviously a solid duo.

Janis didn't seem so bitter when she was with Damien. Sure, now that they were planning revenge their focus was on Regina, but they often strayed off track. Why couldn't she just let go? She was clearly doing better now.

As you rounded the building and made it across the lawn towards the bleachers, you spotted a couple making out. The boy had the girl pinned to the wall. You were quite far away and you could hear their lips smacking.

You didn't want to look too close, because gross, but the varsity jacket and pink ensemble were hard to ignore.

You gritted your teeth and pulled out the pack of Marlboros you had on hand. Regina and Aaron fucking Samuels. You lit up and inhaled before you were even properly concealed under the bleachers.

God, you were such a hypocrite. If you weren't over what Regina did to you in middle school, then why should she be? She'd had it worse, too. You couldn't even imagine the consequences of something like that.

If people knew you liked girls, it'd be over. Even if it was sort of like an open secret, because nobody ever asked you about boys or stuff like that, to have it confirmed would ruin you beyond repair.

If people knew you liked Regina, it'd be even worse.

"Hey, why're you sulking under there?"

"Regina, I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Uh, grumpy much?"

"Leave me alone."

You leaned your head back against the steel, looking up at Regina as she stood over you. She was in all pink. A pink, fuzzy sweater, white skinnies, and Uggs. You had a blue, old Carhartt jacket, denim jeans and scuffed Converse.

You matched with her way better than Aaron. You could probably kiss better too. Not that you'd had any practice. But you'd at least have the sense to not slobber all over the one you were kissing.

Unless Regina liked sloppy kisses. As if you'd get to find out.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

I like you. I like you too much and it's hard to think. I can't tell wrong from right.

"It's nothing." You took another drag. "Janis and Damien are plotting. It just makes me mad." Not entirely untrue. You were lying by omission, though.

"What kinda plots?"

You hesitated. How could you? "Nothing concrete yet." Now you were really lying. It sunk like a stone down your gullet, hitting your heart on the way down, and dropped heavily into your stomach. It nearly punched a hole clean through.

"Keep me updated." She lingered and you kept looking at her. What would she look like as Homecoming queen, soaked down to her bones up on a stage? What would she look like after smearing lard on her face?

Not ethereal in the sunlight like this, probably. Though you reckoned ruined mascara and pimples wouldn't do anything to shake off this stupid crush.

"For sure." You just nodded and looked down. You couldn't keep your eyes on her when guilt gnawed at your insides.

"Can I have one?" She hopped over your legs and sat down on the grass next to you.

"A cigarette?" You baulked. "A cigarette for Regina George?"

"Yes, you doof." She laughed and reached for your pockets. "Where's the pack?" She kept patting down your body. Your heart sped up, your palms sweated, and a stupid grin split your face.

"Only one." You turned your face as stern as you could make it. "I'm not ruining your beautiful singing voice."

"You think my voice is beautiful?" When she asked questions like that and looked so small waiting for your answer, you didn't quite know what to do with yourself.

"Yeah," You breathed, sounding a little too sincere, too reverent. "You sang at the talent show in middle school that one year. I think it was a Celine Dion song? Captivating."

"That was so embarrassing. I had such shit breath control." She rested her hand on your thigh, casually, and the other behind your back. Your faces were so close. "C'mon, jorts. Now."

"Nobody complained. Everybody loved it." You reached into your pocket and handed her a cig. She put it between her lips and looked at you expectantly.

If you'd been feeling bold, you would've touched the tip of your lit one to hers. Yours was more than halfway done, so you'd have gotten real close. Maybe in your dreams.

You flicked the lighter to life and held the fire for her. "Suck. Yup, you got it."

She inhaled and let the smoke out of her mouth. You took a drag to keep from laughing. "When you've got the smoke in your mouth, inhale it."

She did as you told and started coughing violently. This time, you couldn't keep the laughter in. She shoved you and you laughed harder.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69

(if you want to be added to the taglist, reply to this post :))

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 9 - Ugly Jumper Contest


“Do we really have to go to this party?” John moaned.

“Greg asked, and he asks for very little from us. It’s with the people from the Yard, John. They felt like we should be there,” Sherlock explained, as he rifled through his closet. “I think he just wants us there for emotional support.”

“Look, we both hate people. Why would we go to a party?” John argued, frowning as he watched from the corridor. Sherlock was invested, shoulder deep in his closet.

“We're doing Greg a favour. Besides, they’re celebrating the big break in the case. We need to be there for that.”

“Do I get extra credit for working out that it was the fourth wife?” John said, puffing out his chest.

“Yes, yes, they’re very impressed by that, John,” Sherlock said excitedly.

“Do we need to bring anything?” John asked, still standing awkwardly in the corridor, still wondering what on earth Sherlock was fussing with in his sacred bedroom.

“No.” Sherlock paused to look at John for a moment. “Maybe a tie?”

“Oh really? That posh? Okay?” John disappeared to get a tie.

By the time John came back out of his room, Sherlock was in the lounge, jiggling impatiently on the spot, his coat already on and buttoned up. John paused, assessing the situation. Something was not right but he couldn’t put his finger on it. When Sherlock looked up at John, finally, he froze with an odd expression on his face.

“What?” John asked, pausing on the stairs. Sherlock continued to stare at him. “What? Was this not what you had meant?” John pressed on, suddenly doubting his wardrobe choice. He had settled on a Christmas themed tie but it was a particularly classy one that was a deep maroon silk with a very subtle holly embroidered onto it. One of his terrible ex-dates had given it in an over enthusiastic gesture. John had taken her on a second date and she apparently thought he was a permanent boyfriend. It had ended badly but the tie had stayed in the wardrobe because it was actually lovely. He never had cause to wear it and something had possessed him to put on a fancy tie, to impress Sherlock and now, Sherlock looked… possibly disgusted at it, at least that was the only thing John could attribute his particular expression to. It resulted in a very silent cab ride to the pub in which John had no idea what to say to rectify the situation.

Sherlock paid the fare while John stepped out and made his way into the pub to get out of the very cold night. When he paused in the foyer to undo his jacket, he caught sight of Sherlock on the pavement heading in, already undoing his coat. He caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s outfit under his coat now that it was open.

“What are you…” John paused, mouth gaping open as he caught sight of it. “Ah… wearing?” He took in the sight of Sherlock as his friend entered the foyer and took off his coat properly.

“But… You told me to wear…” He was completely confused.

“Well, it’s a Christmas party, John,” Sherlock replied, somehow keeping a straight face.

“I wore a bloody Christmas tie. You told me to! What the hell is that?!” he shrieked, pointing at Sherlock.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked calmly.

“Come on, Sherlock. What are you wearing? Is that my jumper?” John asked again.

“I'm just… borrowing it,” Sherlock said, raising his nose high in the air defensively. “Sherlock Holmes, you have never worn a Christmas jumper in your life. I don’t even think I’ve seen you in a jumper, period. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You're going to stretch the wool out! You’re way taller than I am,” John said in frustration.

“Hush, John. Let’s head in before we miss the start of the party,��� Sherlock said as John glared at him.

Now, he felt completely out of sorts. Standing in his button up shirt with his classy tie, beside Sherlock Holmes in one of his bloody Christmas jumpers. The jumpers that Sherlock teased him about. Constantly. Only now, Sherlock was wearing one. His favourite, in fact and…

“You were fishing this out of your closet,” John suddenly realised.

“Hmmm?” Sherlock hummed the question as if he hadn’t really heard it.

“You were trying to find this… in your closet. Why was it in your closet?” John asked angrily.

Sherlock ignored him and walked past him to ensure they got moving, and the moment John walked in, he realised the whole group were all wearing terrible Christmas jumpers.

“Whaaat is happening, Sherlock?” John whispered, feeling incredibly out of place. “Did you forget to give me the memo?”

Everyone let out a cheer and flooded towards them, with excited greetings, and pats on the back coupled with congratulations. The whole team seemed so excited to see them both. John had an out of body experience as he tried to process what was happening - everybody else in what could only be described as ugly Christmas jumpers, even though John liked quite a few of them. This was exactly why he was the butt of all of Sherlock’s fashion quips wasn’t it?

Finally Lestrade tapped his keys against his beer glass to silence the team in their little corner of the pub, settling the rabble.

“Well, John Watson,” Lestrade said, to which the whole team cheered. “We’ve been waiting for the day you would finally snag a win. Sherlock always outdoes you - and all of us - and this time, you outdid Sherlock and we thought we would celebrate with you. Besides, this arrogant arse needed to be taken down a peg or two.” Everyone chuckled and made noises of agreement. “And as your Christmas jumpers are always a source of Sherlock's teasing, we told him that since you were the genius this week, he had to wear one of your jumpers… case in point,” he added, pointing to Sherlock’s jumper, to which everyone cheered. “And in return we agreed we would all wear a bad Christmas jumper too.”

“So, I'm the only one here without a Christmas jumper,” John mumbled under his breath.

Sherlock leaned in closer to him. “Correct, but you wear them the rest of the time, so we felt like it was a fair trade.

John blushed and tried to laugh along as he drank his beer, taking it faster than he should, in a bid to get out of this whole nightmare as quickly as possible. He wanted to enjoy the glow of the recognition. He had helped break the case open. But somehow the fuss over it just made him feel like they were pointing out how stupid he was the rest of the time. Stupid little John, with his stupid little jumpers.

It wasn’t even an hour later when John slammed his third beer down, interrupting one of Greg’s sorry. “Yeah, I’m… gonna go,” he said, storming through the pub, past his coat and made it out to the street to try and hail a cab.

By the time he had found a cab to stop, Sherlock was by his side, silently watching. He had the coat on and had John’s jumper in his hands. They sat quietly through the entire trip home as John ground his teeth together. They got all the way up to the flat before John finally snapped.

“Is that really how you see me, Sherlock? Just the idiot who wears the bad jumpers?”

Sherlock looked as if he’d been slapped. “No, John, it was all in good sport. We thought you would have a laugh with us.”

“I know they see me like that. But do you really see me… like that?” he asked, his voice quieter.

“No. Of course not. Of course not.”

Sherlock stood in the same room, but didn’t seem to be able to look at John now. His shoes were suddenly very interesting, apparently.

“John, I'm sorry.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We just thought it would be fun. You always seem, to me at least, to be feeling… or perhaps I make you feel… lesser and like a tag along and I wanted you to be the main character.”

John looked surprised but not long enough to get rid of his feelings of complete humiliation. “Yeah, well, you know, once in a while, it would be really nice if I wasn't the main character that was also having the piss taken out of them you know? Like being green, being drugged, being teased, being pointed and laughed at. It’s like I’m the Robin to your Batman…” He frowned at the ground. “That’s not what I… wrong example…or maybe what I mean is… it’s like…people treat me like… I’m your secret gay lover who’s downtrodden and can't tell the world and I…”

“No,” Sherlock tried to scoff casually at his remarks. “Of course you’re not.” His face heated at John’s words.

“You know, just for once… for once I would like to just be John Watson, just normal John Watson without any…” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his faces. “Just forget it. It sounds stupid now.”

Sherlock stood awkwardly unable to think quickly enough to fix things, to say the right thing.

“I'm going to bed,” John snapped. He grabbed his jumper off the chair Sherlock had draped it carefully on and stormed upstairs. He slammed his door louder than he meant to and then sat, sulking on the bed for quite some time. Finally, he realised the jumper smelled of Sherlock now. Irritatingly, infuriatingly, impossibly. Before he could stop himself, he lay down on the bed, fully clothed, and cuddled the jumper tightly to his chest. He lay there unmoving until he drifted off to sleep.

— —

Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart @givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes @battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @221beloved @little-owls-things @daltongraham @sillygirlsmindpalace

[romanitas]

friends, pals, countrymen, etc - here we are nearly ten years later with the final installment of my percabeth spy au. still kind of shocked after all this time i managed to finish it, but thanks for coming along for the ride! <3

here it is on ao3 ! this one's for you, spy au anons. -

Annabeth goes to the stupid aquarium. 

It takes her over a week to decide to use the tickets, if only as a favor to Sally. It takes her another few days of backtracking through old notes, determined to make sure she goes on one of the days Percy isn’t volunteering. She logics herself into it by determining it’ll be a conclusion - she’ll create the real ending for herself where she started it all first. One more visit, because she honestly doesn’t know if she’ll be able to hit up this particular aquarium ever again. She can say goodbye and create her own bookend. 

She wears her owl earrings, matched with a pair of leggings, with pockets, and a long tunic with an old jean jacket split open at one elbow. She doesn’t get to dress down much, with most of her wardrobe often carefully calculated for the task at hand. Today her only task is to look at some fucking fish and maybe get a strawberry milkshake from the overpriced cafeteria. She doesn’t even brush her hair. She thinks about inviting someone to come along, given she has two tickets, but she’s struck with the notion that she wouldn’t even know who to task. 

Reyna? Ridiculous. She’d get called out immediately for it being a bad idea. She almost texts Frank, but decides she needs to do this by herself. Maybe there’s a family she can pass off the other ticket to and that can be her good deed of the day. Sally would approve. 

She arrives at the lunch rush, slipping into the jellyfish quarter while most of the families are scurrying off to eat. She likes to say she thinks long and hard about her life, but mostly she allows herself to be distracted by the way they light up against the dark tanks. They float aimlessly and Annabeth wonders what the sensation is like as she watches them swim idly around, to be so weightless and mindless. 

She walks through the shark tunnel, dodging around running children. She spends a moment studying the arch of the tunnel itself, smiling to herself before she realizes. Maybe there’s a world out there where she did go the architecture route instead of espionage recruitment out of college. She doesn’t want to think about that, not when there are fish to observe. There are so many fish. Too many fish. If she’s honest with herself, they start to blur together after a while, and only the brightly colored ones stand out. 

Part of her hates to admit it, but she starts to feel calmer. Steadier. Like when she walks out of this place, she’ll be Annabeth Chase again and ready to stop moping like a goddamn idiot. 

She probably shouldn’t have saved the penguins for last. 

There are babies now, and Annabeth finds herself smiling at them in the tank. They don’t look too young, but she can’t tell how far from infancy they are at this point. She’s no expert. She just has wikipedia. She tries to remember what she’s read or learned about them, and even though she’d rather not think of the source, she’s not sure she’ll ever forget the facts. 

She’s watching one of the babies slowly and carefully slide into the water when she hears him. 

“Annabeth?”

Her entire body freezes, and she wants to disappear, maybe into one of the artificial icebergs. She looks sideways in the glass and finds the warped reflection of Percy Jackson staring at her from the left. Unfortunately for her desire to submerge, the glass is only transparent for eyes and not bodies. She takes a deep breath without moving her chest and slowly, carefully turns around, looking into his face for the first time in weeks. 

He looks tired. 

Percy stares at her, befuddled, but he’s made the first move by calling out to her. She hadn’t seen him. He could have just walked away and left her ignorant to his existence, but he hadn’t. And maybe it’s just his ADHD, but she selfishly thinks maybe he made the choice to get her attention - which means she has no choice of her own but to acknowledge him in return. 

She swallows. And then she gestures stupidly at the baby penguin behind her. “Did you know baby penguins have to be at least four months old before they can swim? It’s their feathers. They aren’t waterproof at birth.” 

He continues staring at her, and she has to fight the urge to literally run away. “I do know. I’m pretty sure I told you that.”

Shit, he did, didn’t he? She had pre-gamed enough penguin facts to steer their first conversation, but anything and everything she learned since came from his wealth of aquatic knowledge. “Oh. Yes. I just - there are babies now.” 

“Born just over four months ago,” he says, and his tone is the faintest bit teasing.

“Hatched by the males,” she adds on, without thinking. Like his attention to her architectural rants, she seems to have absorbed far too much about penguins, because she could keep going, and it’s only force of will that she doesn’t. 

His mouth quirks, almost a smile. She doesn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t sure she’d get to see him smile again, stuck with the image of only his anger as a final parting gift. 

“Did you put a tracker on me?”

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with that either, and she sputters. It’s ungraceful. Unprofessional. And she feels ashamed, despite the way his tone still sounds like a joke. “No - Percy, no, that’s - ”

He grimaces. “Sorry. It was a joke. I’m trying to not be awkward. It’s not working.”

She would very much like the earth to swallow her up. 

“I wouldn’t,” she insists, finally. Like she needs him to know that. 

He pauses. “Jason?”

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. She hates this turn of conversation, but she wants to let him steer it this time. “There were never any trackers.” 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pivoting away on his own. 

“I’m visiting the penguins,” she says, with only sincerity. He studies her, like he’s trying to gauge how truthful it is. She fidgets, then adds on, “You weren’t supposed to be here.” 

He actually looks shyly taken aback. “I changed my days at the station. I thought it might be…” Safer, is the word he wants to use, she knows it, but instead he lets it hang in the air. “So I had to switch my day here too.”

Annabeth thinks she really should have accounted for that, because Percy can be obtuse but he’s not stupid. It was probably one of the first things he would have done, and she feels stupid for not considering it in her own plans. 

“Your mom gave me the tickets,” is what she says next in lieu of anything else. That’s part of why she’s here, duty to a simple kindness from Sally Jackson. 

Percy’s expression becomes puzzled. “You saw my mom?” 

Oh. That surprises her too. She assumed Sally would have passed it along. She nods. She does not say anything about her own conversation with his mother, because that means he really is here by pure happenstance, and she doesn’t know what to make of that. Everything about her interactions with Percy Jackson from the start has been pure calculation, and right now she feels like she is flying on the seat of her pants. There’s no end game, no goal, just spontaneity. 

Maybe she should lean into that instead. 

“She bought me a coffee.” 

“That… sounds like her.” He pauses. “I didn’t tell her anything. About - you know, your job stuff. All she knows is we broke up.”

He says it like it’s such a normal occurrence. They broke up, like a real couple does. They broke up, they’re no longer together, and not because she shot a man in front of him and lied about her entire existence. “She was probably too nice to me,” she admits. 

Percy looks up and studies her again, and she swallows nervously, both under his expression and the way he doesn’t refute her comment about his mom. “What did she tell you?”

There is a part of her that feels like she shouldn’t go there, but the other, louder, part of her doesn’t want to lie to him ever again. “She - she said you were miserable.”

His shoulders deflate. “Well. She’s not wrong.”

Annabeth stares at him. 

“Look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. It makes the dark strands stick up in multiple directions, and she needs to clamp down on the urge to fix it for him like she used to. “I was really mad. Part of me still is. But… it was real to me, you know? I can’t just erase what I feel. I’m still working through it.” 

Her expression falls, her shoulders heavy too. “For what it’s worth,” she starts, not sure it’s worth much of anything, “I’ve been miserable too.” 

Percy’s face scrunches up. “Even though it was fake?”

She bites her lip. “I might have met you under false pretenses. But I wasn’t lying to you, when I told you it wasn’t fake to me anymore. I spent so much time with you that I found myself wishing more than anything else it was real. I promise. If you believe one thing I say, believe me now when I promise that I’m never going to lie to you again.” 

He looks up at her, green eyes scrutinizing her like she’s under a microscope. Instead of trying to hide or put up a front, Annabeth simply lets the unhappiness hang on her like a shroud. Her bag is falling off her shoulder, the dark circles almost feel physical beneath her eyes, and her hair is a borderline rat's nest. She was always very carefully put together in front of him, even when she was trying to appear casual. Nothing about her right now is pre-planned for Percy. In some ways, she’s glad for it. 

He just watches her, and his frown deepens. She bites her lip and resists the urge to look away at the penguins. 

“Okay,” he says, after a too long silence, and she stares at him like he spoke in Greek. “I believe you.”

Her jaw drops, but she smoothly closes it. Her voice is quiet, anxious, startled and hopeful all at once, and she can’t seem to compartmentalize any of it. “You do?”

Percy purses his lips, like he can’t believe what he’s saying either. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he says, gesturing, and Annabeth’s face goes red at her dishevelment. “It feels like I’m looking at the real Annabeth, you know?”

She barks out a laugh, then covers her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t - I’m just not really fit for polite company. Fish notwithstanding.” 

“Yeah,” he says, and he grins a little. “I think that’s why I believe you.” 

Annabeth swallows anxiously and blinks back a sudden onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry, Percy. I know it was my job, but you’re so… good. At some point, it started to feel like I wasn’t pretending. I realized I really, really liked being around you. Being your friend, being with you. You didn’t deserve me lying to you, regardless of how it started.”

The last time she apologized, they were arguing. Now he just looks at her. “Thank you,” he says. It’s not quite forgiveness, it’s not an ‘it’s okay’ or the standard follow up etiquette of apologies, but it’s better, she thinks, because it feels genuine. Like he is accepting the truth of it, that she is sorry, and the fact that he believes it settles in her in an odd way. 

“Are you still… you know. Uh, working?” 

She nearly laughs at his word choice. “I’m on break. And I’m not - I was pulled from the Jupiter Industries stuff. So I’m not… working.” 

“So you’re literally just here at the aquarium for fun?” 

She hesitates, though she doesn’t know why. “Yes. And, well, you know - Sally gave me the tickets. I felt like I should use them, after our conversation.” She pauses. “I think she’s worried about you.”

Percy runs a hand through his hair again. She knows he hates stressing his mother. She knows so many things about him that she can’t seem to put down. “She always worries too much. Can I ask what else she said to you?”

It’s phrased in a way that she could turn him down, but Annabeth has promised herself as well as him that she’s in the running to be honest. 

“She asked me if I wanted to fix things with you. I told her I didn’t know if I could.” It’s not all she asked. Annabeth just doesn’t know how to bring the other part up, or if she even should.

Percy frowns. “Do you… actually want to fix things?” 

Annabeth draws in a quiet breath. “I miss you,” she admits, and his face twists with surprise and what could be relief, but maybe she’s projecting. “But I wasn’t lying when I told her I didn’t know if I could. I hurt you. It’s not up to me to forgive myself for it, no matter how much I miss you.”

His frown deepens, but he doesn’t look unhappy - more like thoughtful. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” he mumbles. 

“I don’t think she wanted to interfere too much,” she offers quietly. “There’s one more thing.”

Percy looks up at her. 

Annabeth swallows again, but this time she’s pushing down her pride. “She asked me if I loved you.”

He looks at her carefully. “What did you tell her?”

She keeps his gaze. “I said I did.” She curls in on herself a little. “I do.”

Something in Percy Jackson deflates, but not in a way that suggests loss. It’s like he’s stopped carrying a heavy box. His shoulders sink, even if his face looks as confused as it does lighter. “It’s like everything in me wants to believe it. And I think I do,” he starts. 

Annabeth’s stomach flutters. 

“It’s crazy. Like, it’s so crazy to me that you still love me, because everything about it is so… wrong? No, not wrong - but we started wrong. We started wrong, but everything I felt was still so real. The bad and the good. I was really scared at that restaurant, for the obvious reasons - but I think I was scared about what it meant for us too.” Percy puffs out a breath of air, and his eyebrows crinkle. “I don’t have a good sense of self-preservation.”

Annabeth can barely breathe. She holds herself back from reaching for his arm. “Do you think… we could start over, and do it right?”

Percy studies her again, wary but curious. “What, like a do-over?”

“I guess. A re-meet.”

“A real meet-cute?”

She cracks a small smile. “I mean, I did run into you randomly in the aquarium.”

“Happenstance fishes.”

“We’re by the penguins,” she corrects, automatically. “Happenstance birds.”

Percy cracks his own smile, dimple pinching his cheek. “Did you know the babies don’t swim until they’re four months old?”

Annabeth’s smile widens. “You know, someone might have told me that already,” she starts. “But I could use a refresher.” 

“I’m still on shift,” he says, a little awkwardly. “But I’ll be done in about two hours.”

It takes a few moments for what he offers to sink in. It doesn’t seem fair or right to her at all that Percy Jackson is here before her, yet again in front of the stupid penguins, willingly telling her when he’s finished - offering to spend more time with her. But it’s better this time. There’s no frustration on her part, no trying to drag it out of him - he’s offering because he’s also offering her a chance, and Annabeth knows she is going to take it, regardless of how much she deserves it. She’s going to work to deserve it. Neither of them were forced to be here. She isn’t coercing him into a date. She’s letting him lead it. 

And he’s still choosing to see her. 

“I still have to visit some octopi,” she says, nerves alight, “But I could meet you back here in two hours…?” 

Percy’s silence is scary, but Annabeth gives him the time. It’s a final shot for him to back out if he wants to, and she won’t even blame him if he changes his mind even now. But he’s Percy. And somehow, she isn’t surprised by his answer. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Annabeth is going to cry all over again. She holds out her hand instead, and even though he gives her a confused look, Percy takes it. She shakes it, relishing the feeling of his palm against hers, the warmth spreading through her fingers as he squeezes it. She thought she’d never get to experience his touch again. 

“Hi,” she starts, feeling silly, but allowing herself to run with it. No more thinking or calculating, she’s just going with this strange flow. “I’m Annabeth Chase.”

He laughs, his own smile edging on silly too. “Percy Jackson. Hey.”

“Do you work here?” she asks, trying not to smile and failing completely. 

He shakes his head. “I just volunteer. I’m a firefighter.”

“You got some kind of affinity for water?”

He breaks into a grin that’s almost a laugh. “I’ve always liked the ocean.” He pauses then, hesitation slipping into his face. “What about you?” 

She studies his face, the kindness and the anger and everything in between flashing through her head. She’s already memorized it, but she can still bask in it anew. She doesn’t really know where she’s going from here, least of all with Percy, but she once again opts for honesty, even if nothing comes of it. “I’m thinking I might get into architecture.”

Percy looks surprised. “Sounds like a big change.”

Annabeth pulls her hand away, straightens her shoulders. “Sometimes a person comes along and gives you a whole new perspective on things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll see. I’m working on it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” 

“I think,” he says, hesitating, “You should do what makes you happy.” 

She laughs. “Again,” she says, quieter this time, “I’m working on it.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re kind of hyper-competent.”

“Only kind of?” 

Percy snorts. “I just mean, you’ll probably figure it out.” 

She looks at him in wonder, that he could still stand there and offer a kindness to her after everything. It doesn’t surprise her, if she really thinks about it. She fell in love with him for a reason, after all. For a lot of reasons.

“I want you to know me,” she says suddenly, which goes against every single part of her existence as a spy, but Percy has already broken through all of those rules. She wants to be known, by him specifically, which is wildly scary and completely against all manner of protocol, but she is no longer lying to him. She promised. She promised and she wants to open up everything about herself that she’s kept quiet for him to witness. 

Percy’s mouth opens and closes like a nearby fish. “I know you like owls. That wasn’t fake.”

She blinks, and he gestures at her earrings. She touches one instinctively. “They’re my favorite. So is strawberry, and I do really love Gaudí, and I’m starting to really like penguins too.” 

“The penguins are pretty cool,” he says with a very small smile. 

A quiet settles over them after that, but Annabeth finds it’s not uncomfortable. There is going to be some awkwardness, but the thing about it right now is it doesn’t feel scary. All the scariest parts are behind her, and right now she is only looking at the new possibility of Percy Jackson in her life, in whatever capacity he allows. She’ll take any of it. He gets to set the pace this time, and she’s more than willing to allow it. 

“Thank you,” she says, finally. “For giving me another chance.” 

His grin is haphazard, lopsided, and maybe a little self-deprecating. “When I saw you standing there, there was a part of me that wanted to keep walking - but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Maybe it makes me a little stupid. I really want to know you too. I want to keep knowing you.”  

“I’ve been stupid too,” she says with a shrug. “So we’re off to a great start.” 

“A start,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Not many people get to do that twice.” 

“No,” she agrees. “I thought I was coming here for an ending.”

Percy blinks at her. “I don’t really know what’ll happen, Annabeth.”

“That’s okay,” she says, breathing in deeply and relishing the way the air fills her lungs. She doesn’t know either. But that’s better than finality. “We can work on that too.”

His eyes flicker with a softness she knows she still doesn’t deserve, but she relishes in that too. “So… I guess I’ll see you again in about two hours?” He pauses. “We can get smoothies.”

“I like the Strawberry Whirl.” 

He pauses again. “I knew that had to be true.”

Annabeth laughs, and Percy beams, and she thinks somehow, some way, they’re going to be… okay. It might take time. She doesn’t know what it’s going to look like, fully expects a lot of difficult bridges, but it feels like a real chance she hadn’t expected. They could be friends. They could end up more. They could go absolutely nowhere and fall apart much more naturally, more smoothly, without blood and bullets - but she’s going to try very hard to avoid that. She’s going to be herself, and maybe that’ll be good enough for him to stick around. It’s the only way she’s going to enable the mere chance of it. 

As far as she’s concerned, anything involving Percy from now on is always going to be real. 

[anonymous-dentist]

Part Three of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Two

-

Cellbit has been in and out of several prisons in his life. He's no stranger to captivity, he knows how it works. He knows how the system works, and he's not expecting the queen to be any better than any of his previous wardens.

...Still. It's kind of nice to be given a cell with an actual bed in it. With bedsheets- silk, probably, they're soft. And a rug on the marble floor to keep the chill away. And bookshelves. With books in them. Interesting-looking books, too: mysteries, judging by the titles, and ones he didn't have access to back home due to Gato Kingdom customs laws.

But, like. Fuck the queen. She kidnapped him and his husband, she's currently working on kidnapping their children, and she doesn't seem keen to give Cellbit and Roier any chance to escape.

The cell- a bedroom, Roier had called it, but, really, it's a cell- doesn't have any windows. The door is unlocked, but there are two guards outside who are apparently supposed to follow Cellbit and-slash-or Roier wherever they go.

There are clothes in the wardrobe that are clearly recycled from some other member of Gato royalty. They're all finer than anything Cellbit has ever known, and he thinks he'd rather die than wear them.

Roier, though? He's not happy about being kidnapped, and he's even less happy about not having anything to protect himself and Cellbit with, but he seems happy enough about the 'lost prince' treatment that Cellbit's getting.

"When we escape, we're bringing the clothes with us," Roier decides on night two of their forced stay in the castle.

They're in bed, Roier wrapped protectively around Cellbit's back and holding him so tightly that Cellbit's ribs hurt. It's close to midnight, but neither of them can sleep, because how can they sleep when their kids are an entire kingdom away?

Cellbit quietly laughs. "Yeah? How?"

"You'll carry them."

"Oh, will I?"

"Yes, obviously. I have to have my arms free for fighting."

Roier's breath ghosts over the back of Cellbit's neck. It's warm, and Roier is warm, and the blankets are warm, and it all feels so cozy and yet so wrong. The bed is too nice. The bed is too big. The room is too big. Roier's clothes are too soft. It's too quiet, where is all the noise?

The entire time that Cellbit has been in the castle, these past two days, he has seen a handful of people: a few guards, a total of two servants, and, of course, the queen. But she's been too busy trying to rebuild her kingdom to bother with the men she's had kidnapped, and Cellbit hasn't seen much of her outside of the meals he and Roier are dragged to twice a day.

The queen is... interesting. She's a total piece of shit and Cellbit kind of hates her more than he can describe, but she refuses to be addressed by any of the usual titles; she keeps correcting her knights when they call her anything but 'Bagi', and she looks two seconds away from murder every time Cellbit calls her 'your highness'. She seems to actually care about her kingdom, which is a marked difference from her parents, and she spends all day locked in her study in the tallest of the castle's towers working on... queen stuff. Whatever it is she does, Cellbit doesn't know. He isn't royalty, he's an alchemist. This is all foreign to him.

"Who says we need to fight?" Cellbit asks. "Maybe they'll just... let us go when they figure out they've got the wrong Cellbit."

"Mm, maybe. Or, hear me out, I knock out a guard, steal their sword, and then I carry you out of here. Easy."

Cellbit imagines it. He smiles as his imaginary Roier spontaneously becomes shirtless mid-escape.

He snuggles back into his real shirtless husband's chest with a happy little trill. His trill becomes a proper purr as one of Roier's hands trails up and into Cellbit's hair, landing at the base of his ears and scratching lightly. His eyes slip shut, and his back arches, and he loves his husband so much! He's so sweet even when he's the victim of a kidnapping, he's literally the perfect man.

"Aww, gatinho," Roier coos. "You are the prince... of my heart."

Gods, that's cheesy.

Cellbit loves him.

"That... doesn't even make... sense..." Cellbit murmurs, voice obscured by his purring.

Roier sighs dramatically: "Fine, you're the king of my heart. Better?"

"Mmmmmmmm."

Roier chuckles fondly. "Mhmm, I see, yes, yes."

Cellbit bats a hand in the vague direction of Roier's face. He doesn't make contact, but that's fine. He'd rather die than hurt Roier, even playfully.

A kiss plants itself between Cellbit's ears. He melts, all thoughts evaporating outside of warm and Roier. Warmoier...

(The room doesn't have a window, so neither of them see the faint green light surrounding the castle.)

He's jerked back into his body as the entire castle shakes and rattles to the point of books falling off of their shelves. He's nearly tossed out of bed, only staying in bed thanks to Roier.

Cellbit immediately tries sitting up, but Roier pulls him back down with a hissed, "Be careful!"

"We'll be safer on the floor," Cellbit huffs. "Come on."

He drags Roier off of the bed and, together, they huddle beneath it clinging to each other.

"This sucks," Roier complains. He grips Cellbit's arm tightly, definitely not worried about the literal earthquake they're stuck in the middle of. "We just got comfortable!"

"We can get comfortable again," Cellbit assures him.

He feels it before he hears it. His entire body recoils upon instinct, his ears pressing down against his head just as an otherworldly wail echoes up from somewhere and burrows into his very bones.

"Are you sure?" Roier asks, wide-eyed. "What the fuck? Is this place haunted?"

The wailing continues. Roier has to let go of Cellbit so he can clap his hands over his ears. Cellbit covers his own ears, but it doesn't stop the chill in his bones, and it doesn't make the sick feeling growing in his stomach go away.

"I hope it is!" Cellbit replies, his voice near a shout from how loud the wailing is. "At least it would be interesting!"

Roier rolls his eyes. "Oh, at least!"

And then, just like that, the shaking stops. The wail cuts itself off with a sob, and then it's gone.

Cellbit looks at Roier. Roier looks at Cellbit.

Slowly, Cellbit lowers his hands from his ears, though his ears don't perk back up.

"You know," he says, "I don't think the queen told us everything when she kidnapped us."

"No shit," Roier grumbles. He moves his hands from his ears to Cellbit's hands, linking their fingers together; their hands are shaking from the adrenaline, but they seem to stabilize as soon as they're holding each other.

"I bet she doesn't even think I'm the prince," Cellbit continues. He looks down at his and Roier's joined hands. "I bet we're some kind of sacrifice to whatever spirit is haunting this castle."

"That's ridiculous," Roier scoffs. "I wouldn't be a sacrifice. You, yes, but me?"

He laughs as Cellbit untangles his fingers from Roier's and crawls out from under the bed. As he does so, Roier calls out to him and grabs his ankle and tries pulling him back under. Cellbit kicks at him, and Roier bites Cellbit's ankle, and Cellbit uses his leg to pull Roier out from under the bed, and they end up pressed against each other on the rug surrounded by fallen books laughing.

Roier, on top for the moment, leans down to kiss Cellbit.

That, of course, is when their cell's door slams open and the guards stationed outside come running in with alarmed expressions on their faces.

Cellbit groans and shoots the guards a dirty look.

"Do you mind?" he snaps.

At least the guards have the decency to look ashamed as they take in Cellbit and Roier's... position.

Roier huffs out a sigh and collapses onto Cellbit's chest, laying his head on its side on Cellbit's chest so he can glare at the guards properly.

"Can we help you?" Roier asks.

"Um," says one guard, clearly blushing and absolutely mortified. "Sorry. The prince has been requested in the queen's study. Uh. Sorry. We'll just..."

She and her fellow guard awkwardly bow, and then they start slowly backing out of the cell.

They aren't alarmed by the scattered books, Cellbit notices. No mention of the earthquake or the wailing, either. This is normal, then.

Hm.

Cellbit feigns a yawn. "Well, tell her majesty that both me and my husband would like to sleep after whatever the hell that was that woke us up. Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning."

The guards freeze. They go pale, look at each other, look back to Cellbit.

Roier lifts a hand and waves it dismissively towards them. "You heard the prince, go away."

Cellbit waits until the guards are gone before pushing Roier off of him and shooting him a halfhearted glare.

"'You heard the prince'?" he asks. "Really?"

Roier shrugs innocently. "It got them to leave. Now, get back here."

He growls playfully before pouncing back onto Cellbit. He frames Cellbit's face with his hands, and then he kisses him roughly. And then he kisses him softer after Cellbit mumbles something against his lips about being tired and wanting to get back into bed.

"You're so weak," Roier teases, lips moving against Cellbit's as he speaks.

"I'm weak... for you."

Cellbit laughs as Roier groans and tears himself away to go mope his way back into the bed. He's soon to follow, and he's immediately snatched back into Roier's arms and held captive once again.

This castle may be a very nice prison, but there's no better one than Roier's arms. It is simply the best, and Cellbit should know; it's the only prison he's never tried to escape from.

______________

To be continued...

[maddascanbe-blog]

Finally! I will say now that the class girls will likely take a long time as well.

Kagami's first and second looks here are meant to be her pre and post character development outfits.

Buckle in, this is a long (haha) one

Kagami in cannon is clearly designsed to resemble Marinette in a lot of ways, both are of Asian decent and have blue-ish hair and blue eyes. Both have freckles and even their suits share a very similar color pallet. At least Luka was different from Adrien in more than personality.

I didn't want that for my Kagami. I wanted her too look like more than a Marinette clone. So she gets to keep her freckles since my Marinette doesn't have any. Her hair is a darker color instead of a blue, and her eyes take on a stormy grey color. And of course their body types are different, namely Kagami is both taller and ripped.

Ryuko's hair is more blue since I gave the miraculous blue, white, and gold accent to match the weather pattern on her chest. Her hair get's shorter, pinned back and is a bit more wild. It's probably got some static. Little horns and some armor to keep her extra safe as well as further resembling scales. Her suit is closer to an orange shade than Ladybug's cool red. I almost switched her to blue since I agree with the sentiment that the dragon should have been blue. But red looked good too.

I don't particularly like any of the akuma designs for Kagami. I like Oni-Chan in concept at least (hate the name) so I decided to combine that with Riposte to create her initial design. Than she gets a pallet swap and a few thorny details to represent the rose. And Bara-Oni, literally just 'Rose Demon' I ain't creative, when Lila pulls her stunt. Which would have less to do with "How could Adrien do this to me," to "That bitch is kissing Adiren when he is CLEARLY uncomfortable!"

Kagami's personality is very similar to cannon, however her character still has some pretty harsh changes. Kagami has come to realse through Adrien and Marinette's friendship that she isn't very happy with her life. Her mother is trying to live through her, forcing Kagami to participate in fencing and putting pressure on her to perform perfectly in every aspect of life.

This comes to a head when she is given Longg. While sitting in the akumatized mech her mother became, all because she had the audacity to make friends, she actually waits long (haha) enough for Longg to explain the miraculous. When Longg explains the weapon he points out that she must be thrilled to have a sword. At which point Kagami has an emotional breakdown and sobs that she doesn't even like sword fighting. That she would rather learn hand to hand combat and that she's wanted to switch for years but her mother refused to hear it.

Longg says her can change her weapon to better suit her, and she get's armor and the abilitly to summon gauntlets when her power activates.

After having this break she and Adrien sit down and try and find ways for Kagami to feel more like an individual without being disowned at 16. Cutting/dyeing your hair and getting a Tattoo are two of the results, and since Kagami already has short hair and doens't really want to go shorter she gets the tattoo instead. Subtly referencing her time as Ryuko but in blue (her favorite color). And of course her mother is blind and doesn't know

Is it kind of shitty to abuse your mother's disability to use her money and get a tattoo? Maybe. But that's what you get for mentally and emotionally warping your duaghter to the point where she lies about her favorite color to please you. She, Adrien, and Chloe are in the "Our mom's suck" club together. Chloe will be collecting her for new wardrobe shopping.

[moltensmusings]

I really think the shift in how Levy is written by Mashima is tied directly into her alloted screen time and wardrobe. When we meet levy she's wearing shorts, a vest, and a bikini top/crop top. She's noticeably someone who marches to her own rhythm. Often aware of tense situations she's in and the importance of them but also seemingly more focused on the magic at play than saving people. Which is fun.

She's reliable with us getting the knowledge that in team shadowgear she's the one who often saves them on missions and is the leader who takes charge.

We start noticing this change in the thunderlegion arc starting with her hiding behind a tree and needing to be protected as she dons an outfit that's very different from her first version. Now I don't hate her outfit, but it is a major departure from what we've had so far.

But I'd say the biggest departure from her initial self comes during the tenrou Island arc. It's an arc where she's taking an S-class exam and yet first fight she's in follows her emotionally running away from gajeel and being sent off to find help after largely being treated like a damsel in distress. Now I don't need Levy to be a beast on the battlefield. But it is notable that the minute she starts wearing dresses we get her in scenes that really don't feel like they match her character/there's a shift that begins in her being given cutesy attributes almost as a way to justify her as a lovd interest or important character.

My issue isn't with girls being cutesy. I love cutesy characters (shiemi from blue exorcist is a great example of a cutesy girl I adore) but it feels so weird when tied to the character we first meet. And then we almost never get levy in pants again. We start getting a lot of scenes of her being infantalized and weirdly bothered by other girls' bodies compared to hers in ways she never was before. She's seemingly never allowed to have this energy with gajeel in a scene ever again which sucks because moments like this do way more to show off a strong building block for a relationship then what we get given:

I really enjoy scenes like this where both gajeel and Levy are allowed to interact without levy having to be altered. It is upsetting that Mashima doesn't seem to hold the same opinion or trust that his readers could enjoy them this way.

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

Lucien was sent to the north two days after his wedding, leaving Elain alone at court. Her sisters were gone, her parents returned to Spring, which left Elain to figure out Autumn without her usual supports. Elain was tempted to isolate herself, but like the females in Spring, the ladies of Autumn stuck together, for the most part. They had branches, smaller groups within the larger one, and Elain wanted to get in with one, just for security.

Which was how she found Ayla. 

Ayla clearly led one the smaller groups of females and Elain wondered if it was because she was so obviously beautiful. With long, thick hair the color of cinnamon that fell in heavy, ringlet curls and eyes like obsidian, and a wardrobe to rival the Lady of Autumn herself. If Eris hadn’t already been married, Elain would have assumed Ayla was a contender. She seemed born to rule in some capacity.

And rule she did—over a card game every afternoon in the parlor. It was invitation only, and Elain had been invited by Ayla herself as she’d wandered aimlessly through the hall. 

“Elain, right?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside Elain. “I was at your wedding. You were beautiful.”

It was a lie, but Ayla made it seem sincere. “Thank you.”

“I was hoping you’d join me and a few friends this afternoon? We play a friendly game of cards,” she began, fingers twisting a gold ring around her middle finger. “You could ask Arina, too, if she’d like to join.”

“I will,” Elain said, needing to be on good terms with the ladies, especially if Lucien was going to run off every chance he got. Elain was certain he’d run off to meet up with a female and it made her hate him a little.

“Excellent,” Ayla said, clapping delicate hands together. She practically floated away, leaving Elain to track Arina down far, far within the bowels of the palace. She hadn’t realized she’d need permission from the High Lord to actually go inside the library. Beron Vanserra terrified Elain—she’d never ask. Instead, she politely begged one of the scholars to bring Arina to her, and moments later Arina herself appeared, the only bright thing in the gloom.

“We’ve been invited to a card game,” Elain said without preamble. 

Arina wrinkled her nose. “By who?”

“Ayla.”

“Ugh–”

“Please come with me,” Elain implored, looking up at the only woman she could count on to be friendly to her. Elain understood that Ayla needed the future Lady of Autumn to appear, if only to enhance her own social status. Back home, the ladies had clamored for Nesta’s friendship and attention, much to their detriment. Nesta loathed social climbers. 

“Fine,” Arina grumbled, gathering her skirts as the pair began climbing back up the stairs.

“Why don’t you like her?”

“There was a rumor, when I first came, that she and Eris…”

“Oh. Oh. Did they?”

“Well, I never asked,” Arina sniffed, chin lifted in the air. “I didn’t want him to think I was jealous.”

“But you are jealous,” Elain teased.

“He doesn’t need to know that. His ego is already unchecked without my help. It’s good for him to think he doesn’t quite have me.”

“You accepted the mating bond,” Elain reminded her. 

Arina merely waved her hand, as if to say semantics. Elain doubted very much that Eris worried a whole lot about losing Arina given the fact that she’d so easily ingratiated herself into his life. Elain doubted very much Arina would leave him even if he’d slept with every available female at court. Eris was a lot older than Arina—of course he must have.

Though, it made her wonder who her husband had been sleeping with. Surely there must have been people before his murdered lover. Would it bother her? If Ayla slept with Lucien, would Elain avoid her, too?

She didn’t know the answer to that. In some ways, it felt like relief to know her husband had interests outside of annoying her and that he might discreetly pick up with someone else to spare her his attention. It was also strangely humiliating to imagine. Courts were small, insular, and the nobility of Prythian well connected. How long before rumors swirled of Lucien’s disinterest?

Elain could not win. 

Elain shoved thoughts of Lucien from her mind. She didn’t want him, so who cared what he did or didn’t do? The pressure in her chest crested for a moment, thrumming with heat before she could settle herself down. Elain took three calming breaths and the feeling subsided, though it lingered just below her ribs, aching like a bruise. 

Ayla’s card game was massive. Held in a large parlor papered in orange and brown flowers, the room could have held five hundred people comfortably. Tables were arranged with little placards noting who sat where. A long table held tea sandwiches and cakes, towers of little pastries and every beverage a person could possibly ask for. No one was eating, and when Elain and Arina arrived, the ladies already gathered hushed softly, eyes wide with excitement.

This would be the source of everyone's gossip for the rest of the week. 

“You came!” Ayla said, disentangling herself from a group of beautiful women. “I didn’t think—but oh, this is delightful. Here, you’ll sit here.”

Elain didn’t bother to ask who got booted from Ayla’s table. Arina sat, nodding toward the two other women that were already there. 

“Zoelyna,” she began pleasantly, smiling at the redhead. “Celeste.”

They looked like sisters, with the same shade of coppery red hair and bright, blue eyes. They smiled at Arina, launching into a thousand questions meant to occupy Arina’s time. Elain watched Arina with some awe, knowing that Arina did not like these functions or, really, any of the people in the Autumn Court. And yet she had this way of making people feel special—seen. Elain hoped to emulate that.

Maybe, she reasoned, she could make herself so beloved among the ladies they would refuse her husband out of respect or love…or fear, which seemed to be the tactic Arina had employed. There was soft reverence to the way everyone spoke to her that suggested their fear of crossing her. It was absurd—Eris was so besotted that anyone with eyes could see it. 

Though, Elain supposed he had enough power to make him appealing, even with a mate. A mistress often wielded incredible power and if her husband wanted, he could elevate her to the position of a wife without care or concern to how his actual wife felt about it. 

“Explain the rules to me,” Elain said once Ayla sat down, determined to make them all like her.

Ayla beamed. “It’s quite simple, really. Each of us will flip a card in our hand, and the highest suit wins.”

“That’s it?”

“We could make it more interesting, if you like,” Ayla suggested, reaching for a bracelet riddled with diamond on her wrist. “If you want.”

Arina sighed, taking off her pearl earrings while Zoelyna and Celeste both tossed rings in the center of the table. What did Elain have that she could trade besides the coins jingling in her pocket? Reaching within, she pulled out the little pouch and dumped them along with the jewelry. 

“Excellent,” Ayla said with a shark's smile. “I look forward to taking your money, ladies.”

“In your dreams,” Arina retorted, picking up her hand of cards delicately. “I think I’ll buy myself a new gown.”

Ayla smiled at her own hand. “I think I’ll get a new pair of shoes.”

Elain didn’t know what she’d do with their things. Probably return them, truthfully. It hadn’t occurred to her until right then that Elain had no money at all other than what had been sent with her. If she needed things, did she ask Lucien? What if he said no? She knew men like that, who controlled the purse strings so tightly their wives had to beg for simple items like shifts and undergarments. 

She didn’t hear what Zoelyna or Celeste wanted, lost in her own musings about Lucien’s petty cruelty. 

Elain merely shrugged. “I won’t count my coins until they’re in my hand.”

“Smart,” Ayla murmured, eyes bright. “I suppose you aren’t terribly competitive like the rest of us.”

But Elain was competitive. Quietly so, which had always annoyed her sisters. They’d be fighting amongst themselves, battling to be the winner and Elain would sneak in and steal the first prize because they’d forgotten her. 

Again.

It was her strategy in this game, too. She watched them watch each other, and threw her first few hands with an exaggerated, yet good natured sigh. Ayla and Arina immediately began going after each other much like Feyre and Nesta would. Elain’s first win was played off with a chagrined smile.

“What fun!” she declared as Ayla put a little mark in her favor. Elain threw her next hand just for good measure before taking the next five. Ayla and Arina chalked it up to a lucky streak, but Elain had just nearly pulled ahead and had no intention of giving that up. With a sweet smile, she continued to lay down her cards until Arina tossed hers down in frustration.

“You’re cheating,” she accused.

“I would never,” Elain protested, half laughing. “You’re simply a sore loser.”

It was the most fun she’d had since…well. Elain couldn’t remember the last time she had that much fun. So much of her time in recent memory had been spent trying to thwart, and later spite,

Lucien, that she’d let her friendships fall to the wayside back home. Here, though, looking at the shining eyes and bright cheeks of the ladies seated before her, she thought perhaps the worst was behind her.

After all, she was married now. There was no more thwarting Lucien outside of the marriage bed, no more spiting him when he slunk off to avoid her. Why shouldn’t she try and find some enjoyment in this moment. Elain smiled. Maybe Lucien would rarely be home.

Maybe she’d be able to enjoy herself.

LUCIEN:

He hadn’t intended to see Jesminda. Lucien had merely wanted to get out of Autumn for a minute, and Dawn was just far enough to clear his senses of Elain. His friend Nuan lived here, and had agreed to host him for a day while he bullshitted around delivering his fathers proposal for new tariffs on goods. Eris must have been monumentally stupid, or desperate, to relocate Jesminda here.

At first, Lucien thought he was merely hallucinating her in the market. But now—that was her light brown skin, her bouncy brown hair, and her wide eyes staring at him, lips parted in an oh. His legs began moving of their own accord, body vibrating with the need to just touch her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head back and forth as she held up a finger. Lucien’s heart shattered even as he kept moving. “I promised your brother. You weren’t supposed to come looking for me.”

“I…I didn’t know,” he managed, fingers brushing the long sleeve of her green gown. “You’re safe.”

“I was,” she agreed, glancing around nervously. Grabbing the front of his tunic, Jesminda dragged him past rows of vibrant market stalls to a darkened ally where they could talk. “Lucien, go home to your wife.”

“I won’t,” he said, reaching for her face. Jesminda let him, her agony a mirror for his own. “We could leave. We could board a boat right now and leave for the continent.”

“And what then, Lucien? Will you work like some common man?”

“You know I would,” he protested, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “I told you I would. My crown means nothing to me—”

“And your wife?” she pressed, pulling her face from his grasp. “What of her? You’ll leave her to the mercy of your father? I wouldn’t ask you to do that on my behalf.”

“She means nothing to me,” Lucien lied, cringing as he said it. Jesminda noticed, nostrils flaring.

“Oh, Lucien,” she whispered and of course she’d know. No one knew him better. 

“It means nothing.”

“You’re lying,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You…you think it won’t, but in ten years—fifty years—your mind will drift back to her and you’ll wonder—”

“I won’t,” Lucien said, well aware he was begging when he already knew the answer. He would have gotten on his knees if he could have, would have cut his own throat if she’d asked him to.

But Jesminda wouldn’t, and so Lucien remained standing before her, desperate for her to say the only words he wanted to hear.

I love you, Lucien. 

“This is wrong and you know it's wrong,” Jesminda whispered, taking a step toward him. “I swore to your brother I would never speak to you again—”

“Fuck Eris!” Lucien exploded, his feelings all over the place. “Fuck all of it—”

“I want you to go home, Lucien. To your ma—to her. And I want you to treat her well…and…” her bottom lip trembled as Lucien shook his head no. “I want you to leave me alone. Don’t look for me—if you see me in the street, don’t acknowledge me. Don’t write to me. Do not…do not even speak my name.”

“Jes—”

“Swear it,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Swear that you will keep the memories of what we had and you will let me go. Swear it to me right now.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I might as well hand you the sword your father will use to remove my head right now. If you love me, you will let me go.”

Lucien swallowed his urge to cry right along side her. “I could keep you safe.”

“You can’t keep us all safe. You’d sacrifice your mate,” she whispered the word, as if it pained her to say it, “for me?”

Lucien started to say that he would, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t make that promise and Jesminda knew it. She knew what all Fae knew—your mate was the other half of your soul. To lose Elain would be losing part of himself, even if they didn’t want each other or were a bad match. 

Shaking her head of curls, Jesminda offered him a brave smile. “I wondered why it didn’t snap for us. I wish…but it didn’t, and it's better to know now that it was never going to. You and I…we were…” She offered him a pretty smile that cracked his heart in half. “I’m glad I know. Some part of me will always love you, Lucien, but I’ve made my peace with how things ended. My family is still in Autumn and I’m hoping to get them out.”

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice cracking.

Jesminda considered this before offering him a bright smile. “I am. I always wanted to see the world…and Dawn is just one stop along the way.”

“I want you to be happy,” he told her, not bothering to add that he wanted her to be happy with him.

“Your brother was generous. I…I’m going to be okay, Lucien. And so will you. Trust me.”

She leaned up on tiptoes, pressed her lips against his cheek, and stepped back before he could do something rash. Jesminda offered him one last smile, eyes glassy and bright, before slipping out of the ally. Lucien let her, back against the brick, terrified that if he saw where she went he’d try and track her down. She’d asked him to let her go, and Lucien wanted to give her what she wanted.

Even if what she wanted wasn’t him.

Abandoning his plan to waste more time in Dawn, Lucien decided to return home for the night before spending the remainder of his time down by the sea drinking with sailors until he forgot his own name. Lucien winnowed onto the grounds, expecting silence.

Instead he found Elain at the center of what seemed to be a rowdy game with a gaggle of the well-bred ladies of court…and Arina, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed to slits.

“She cheated.”

“You’re a sore loser!” Ayla declared, half hiding behind Elain who was clearly trying to mediate the situation. Not far away, Tanwen lounged on marble steps leading up to the palace, wanting the whole thing play out with a furrowed brow. Elain hadn’t noticed him, which gave Lucien and his aching heart a chance to compare her to Jesminda.

“It’s simply a misunderstanding,” Elain assured them both, hands thrown out to keep Arina from swinging. Lucien was in a mood.

“Arina is simply sore that Ayla was promised to Eris before she came along,” Lucien said, silencing the entire lawn as he stalked away. He thought he’d gotten away with it, too, until something hard bounced off the back of his head. Lucien whipped around to find his wife standing there, wide-eyed and impossibly innocent despite the mallet held in her hand. 

Arina burst out laughing, doubled over as Ayla pressed her fingertips to her lips. 

“Did you throw something at me, wife?”

Elain only shook her head, the picture of chaste nobility. “I would never. Are you well?”

Lucien began to stalk toward her, so angry he could barely contain it. His rage must have shown because some of Elain’s mirth slipped and he saw her fear as she took a step backward.

“Brother!” Tanwen called, jogging toward Lucien before he could do anything rash. “Come inside with me, have a drink. You look like you need it.” It was a warning. Lucien exhaled as he nodded his head. Aware he was being watched by more than just Arina and Ayla, he looked at Elain and said, “You look pretty today.”

That was always an easy complement to give. Lucien couldn’t imagine there would ever come a time when Elain wasn’t pretty. 

“You’re falling to pieces,” Tanwen muttered when they were out of earshot. “Too many outbursts and you’ll draw fathers attention.”

“Who asked you?” Lucien snapped. 

“You know the consequences. You have a wife now, so you have a weakness. Elain doesn’t look as if she’s faced a hardship in her life. I can’t imagine how she’d fare in the dungeons paying for your fury. But no one asked me,” Tanwen replied, veering off to leave Lucien alone in the hall feeling guilty and angry and so, so empty all at once. Lucien went to one of the study’s in the palace—the one he and his older brothers typically occupied when they were trying to escape the noise of the place—and poured himself a drink. No one came to bother him, which was for the best.

Lucien threw the first glass back like a shot. The second and third, too.

The fourth burned as he pressed his back against the cool wood of the wall and sank to the floor, heart racing. Lucien finished his drink before abandoning the glass for the bottle itself. Eyes closed, all he saw was Jesminda telling him not to look for her ever again. That she was happy. 

He wasn’t. She hadn’t asked, likely because she already knew what he’d say. 

And she was right. Lucien buried his head in his knees, choking back the urge to sob himself hoarse. She was right. To chase after her was to condemn her entire family to death and his own mate. What kind of male was he?

A foolish one, with a foolish heart. 

Lucien didn’t remember falling asleep, though he did remember throwing up in a vase somewhere around his seventh or eighth drink. Barely conscious, he felt cool hands on his face and the smell of honey and jasmine.

“Not you,” he slurred as another rougher set of hands hauled him to his feet.

“Take him to the kennels,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eris’s ordered. “I’ll have him hosed down and he can sleep with the dogs since he wants to act like one.”

“Don’t—don’t do that. Bring him to me,” came that melodic voice that could only belong to his wife.

“It would please me far more to see him sleep with the animals.”

“Well, it wouldn’t please me. And if you displease me, I’m going to tell your wife to punish you.”

“I love when my wife punishes me—ow, did you hit me?!”

Lucien peeked open an eye as he was dragged, but the world spinned violently, prompting him to close them again. Elain and Eris spoke more, mostly teasing if Lucien judged the tone of their words right, but in truth he was pretty sure he fell back asleep as he walked.

“You’re heavy,” he heard Elain whisper, fingers undoing the buttons on his jacket deftly.

“And you’re forward,” he mumbled, turning so he could lay on his stomach. “I don’t need your help.”

Elain said nothing, though the scent of her was overpowering. 

“Elain?”

A muffled squeak caused Lucien to look down, where he found Elain panting against his chest, shoving him off her. “Please,” she breathed, unaware of how that one little word could fuel a thousand filthy fantasies. Lucien rolled to his side as Elain scrambled off the bed entirely, shaking out her hands as she took a breath. 

“Do you feel it?” he mumbled, grabbing a pillow to cuddle it against his chest. Maybe he’d feel better if she, too, knew about the bond.

“My cracked ribs?” she asked, rubbing the side of her body. “I think I’ll be feeling that for days.”

Lucien chucked. “You will if I have my way.”

“Big talk for a man that agreed never to touch me,” she replied without malice, sitting beside him on the bed. “Do you want to tell me what all this is about?”

“No.”

Elain sighed, murmured “fine,” and started to move away from the bed. Lucien reached for her, dragging her against him.

“I was in love, once,” he whispered into her hair, wondering if this was all a mistake. He was simply too drunk to care. “And she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elain replied, because of course she would be. She let him hold her against him, though she twisted on her side so she was facing him. “How did she die?”

Lucien exhaled sharply. “She’s alive. She no longer wishes to see me.”

“Oh,” Elain breathed. “I’m still sorry.”

“It’s for the best,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling. “It would never have worked between us.”

“Why not?”

Because I was holding out for a mating bond that was never coming.

“We’re just…two different people, I suppose.”

“Is it my fault?”

“No,” he said, because truthfully it wasn’t. “No, this has nothing to do with you. I’m just…” Angry at you, because there’s no one else to be angry with. 

They lapsed into silence. Lucien didn’t remember falling asleep, and when he woke, it was alone. Elain had been there—a pitcher of water sat on the nightstand beside a few slices of bread with jars of jam and jelly beside it. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting light against the shadows.

Lucien groaned.

“You’re an asshole,” he told himself, rolling onto his stomach so he could push himself up. He knew he was, knew he needed to try and treat Elain better.

But for the rest of the day, Lucien remained in bed.

Drowning in his self-loathing.

ELAIN:

“Hide me,” Elain whispered, grabbing Ayla by the shoulders and shoving her behind a pillar. Ayla squeaked, peering around Elain and Lucien strolled past a moment later, unaware they were hiding just out of view.

“Is the honeymoon over, then?” Ayla whispered once Lucien rounded the corner, unaware of the hiding women mere heartbeats away. Elain couldn’t face him, not after she’d been called to collect him by a nervous servant. She’d found him drunk, jacket half unbuttoned and droll sliding down his cheek pressed against the floor. She’d tried to rouse him, but Lucien was a solid mass of muscle and unmovable. Eris had done it for her, seething with silent fury.

Elain was simply nauseated. He’d gone to see his former love, who’d sent him away likely because it was dishonest and she was a lady of character. That didn’t make his rejection sting any less, even if she didn’t want him.

Everyone would know he’d been drunk over another woman and even if Eris and Arina squashed the ugliest of the rumors, they’d still circulate. He couldn’t go a full day without trying to embarrass her. 

“We just…don’t get along well,” Elain admitted, smoothing out her skirts once she was certain Lucien was gone. 

“No, I suppose not. I heard,” Ayla added, her face rich with sympathy. Elain swallowed the urge to scream. “I’m sorry. I think I might have killed my husband if he did that.”

“It’s tempting,” Elain admitted, allowing Ayla to walk her out of the palace and toward the apple orchard. Elain drank in the crisp air, catching a whiff of smoke in the air. Turning, she saw Tanwen in the distance, marked by the twin pair of axes he wore criss-crossed along his back. He was burning leaves—or something distinctly leaf shaped—causing curling tendrils of smoke to waft toward them. Ayla, too, had turned to look, those dark eyes narrowed just at the corners.

“Why does he dress like that?” Elain asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from herself. “Like he’s ready to march into battle.”

Ayla’s eyes never left Tanwen. “I don’t know. He’s never spoken to me.”

That seemed impossible. “Never?”

“The only Vanserra who won’t,” she said, finally turning back to look at Elain. Elain swore a wine colored flush crept up Ayla’s olive skin. “He rarely speaks to the ladies, though, so I take no offense.”

“He talks to me,” Elain said, wondering if he did so simply to irritate Lucien. Ayla glanced at Elain, an inch or so shorter than Elain’s already diminutive frame. If Ayla stood beside Tanwen, he would simply engulf her. It was had to picture what they might talk about, besides—Ayla was a purebred lady, with proper interests and from the little Elain had gathered, a keen mind. Tanwen, on the other hand, didn’t seem so inclined to play courtly games. Perhaps that was the point of the axes. Perhaps they served as a reminder that he solved his problem in a less elegant fashion.

“Well, you’ll have to introduce me then, won’t you?”

“What would you talk to him about?” Elain asked, not meaning to be unkind. She was merely curious why Ayla would care at all. If she was angling for a Vanserra, surely Connall suited her better? He was just as courtly as Eris but without the wife hanging from his arm. 

More color overtook Ayla’s features and oh. “Perhaps nothing at all.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Elain said quickly, linking her arm through Ayla’s before she could race off in embarrassment, “if only so you can see how terribly dull he is.”

Ayla offered a weak smile. “Thank you. It’s…thank you.”

Ayla left Elain not long after, begging some excuse which left Elain walking through the neatly lined trees by herself. Kicking fallen apples with her boot, she tried to push everything from her mind and focus only on her surroundings. Think of the positives, she urged herself. Autumn was beautiful in its own, half-dead way. She was making friends, which was nice, and her husband’s family didn’t seem to hate her.

Even Lucien— “There you are,” he said, interrupting her as she tried to come up with something good about him. That was a fools errand, she supposed. The male standing before her looked like a prince, minus the dark bags under his eyes. Every inch of him was immaculate otherwise, which annoyed her. If only he was less handsome, she lamented. Of his brothers, he was easily the loveliest, which made hating him all the more difficult. He was appealing to look at. 

In an obnoxious sort of way. 

“Were you looking for me?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, taking a breath. It was clear he prepared a speech which wasn’t necessary. Elain had half forgotten—or, she wanted to anyway. No need for him to bring it all back up. “About last night—”

“This isn’t necessary,” Elain began, desperate to avoid this. She didn’t want to be confronted, once again, by the knowledge that he did not want her. It was bad enough they were together for an eternity, their marriage inked well before Elain had been old enough to have a say. To know he would always be drinking and thinking of another woman was far worse. 

“It is necessary because my brothers inform me you are the spectacle of the morning's gossip. It wasn’t my intention,” Lucien told her, face paling ever so slightly. “I ah…I have a gift—”

“I don’t want your pity gifts, Lucien,” she snapped, rounding on him so quickly that he stumbled back a step. “What I want is for you to get yourself together. You aren’t the only one who wasn’t consulted when this marriage was arranged and yet you act like I somehow conspired to get you. As if you’re some kind of catch. I am doing my best to make a difficult circumstance tolerable while you…you throw all my work in my face. You may as well declare to all of court that you hate me and get it over with.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Lucien said, looking as if he meant it. Not that it meant much, because the damage had already been done. Still, his words stopped her in her tracks. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, an apology was at the bottom of the list. 

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” he replied with just a little edge to his voice. It was a warning not to push things too far, and if Elain hadn’t been so tired, she might have called his bluff. “I was an ass, okay?

I’m sorry. Now, can I give you my gift?”

“Fine. Show me this gift of yours,” Elain said, certain a little trinket couldn’t undo the gossip that would trail after her for weeks. 

“This way,” Lucien mumbled, beckoning for her to follow. Elain stayed one pace behind, arms wrapped around the blue fabric of her dress. How long would he make her wear the necklace, she wondered? A few days? Just long enough for everyone to know he was appropriately apologetic?

“Here,” Lucien said, standing outside the edges of an iron gate covered in ivy. “No one has used this in…since I can remember.”

Elain cringed at the creaking hinges before pausing to see what Lucien had brought her to. It had been a garden, once, before decay took over. The once lovely path was made of crumbling, weed eaten stone and gnarled trees swayed in the breeze, ghosts of their once former beauty.

A little earthen pot held a bloom of yellow and red marigolds, peering up at Elain cheerfully.

“Your sisters told me you like to garden,” Lucien said, drawing a small box from somewhere on his person. “They said you do it by hand.”

Elain took the little box, bound in a pink ribbon, to find enchanted gloves. “To protect your hands,” Lucien said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with clear embarrassment. “I thought…” Elain hated the thoughtfulness he’d displayed. How a few days of knowing her, alongside scant pieces of information likely hurled at him between insults, had allowed him to put together the perfect gift. “Thank you,” she said, tucking the gloves into her pocket. Lucien stared for another moment, as though trying to come up with something to say.

“Well, I…should we head back, then?”

Elain allowed Lucien to walk her back, taking the most conspicuous path so everyone would see his hand laid atop of hers resting in the crook of his elbow. The ladies nodded approvingly—including his own mother, who Elain suspected had put him up to the whole thing—while the males watched, their expressions guarded. Perhaps they understood how Lucien felt. Perhaps they simply cared less about these sort of things. 

Elain knew, as she made her way back to their shared bedroom alone, that the news of his gift would drown out his humiliating behavior. He was clever—calculated. A Vanserra, she supposed. Elain stomped into their bedroom, opened the top drawer, and flung the gloves inside.

She’d take the cut up hands over absolving him. Let him see her cracked nails and the dirt caked in the pads of her fingers and let him see she wasn’t some delicate flower he could trample all over.

Nature was fierce, and so was Elain.

LUCIEN:

His wife would be the death of him.

“Elain!” Lucien shouted across the lawn, for all the good it did. He’d simply alerted her, Lady Ayla, and Arina of his presence, which sent the three of them hiking up their skirts and shrieking with laughter as they disappeared over another hill. Lucien was tempted to leave them to the brewing storm and let them come inside, bone chilled and soaked. 

He had also sworn to his mother to be a better husband when she’d come looking for him and boxed him around the ears, declaring she’d raised him better. No one had that conversation with Elain, who was determined to punish him for the humiliation.

She cavorted with Tanwen, letting him teach her to throw axes at trees. She danced with Connall at private parties he wasn’t invited to, and let Eris explain the complicated politics of Autumn when she was bored. And when she wasn’t with her brothers, she ruled court as one of the more fashionable ladies all the others hoped to be like. They copied her hair styles, wore their dresses like her, styled themselves as she did.

And Elain paid him no mind at all unless absolutely forced to. She was in bed most evenings before Lucien, back turned to him and breathing steady. Elain was making a point—he’d humiliated her in service to another female, so she’d treat him the same way. And it irked him. He was trying, even if it was coerced but clearly no one was demanding she treat him well.

“Elain!” he yelled again, voice drowned out by the sound of rumbling thunder. She was still running, unconcerned with the danger. Only Ayla had begun to hang back, the only one of the three who’d grown up in Autumn. She knew how quickly a lightning storm could come and how dangerous they became. 

Please turn around, he prayed softly, not wanting to get caught in the frigid rain. Behind him, Tanwen and Connall followed, arms crossed over their chests. No one wanted to go and get Eris—but they would, if they had to. Better Eris’s wrath than Berons, and he’d be irate if he learned Lucien couldn’t control his wife. 

Ayla yelled something none of them could hear, hair whipping wildly around her face as she tried desperately to convince Arina and Elain to come back. Arina would never be used to the kind of storms they got here—Lucien heard when it rained in Day, the winds were so brutal they could take the roof off a building. And for Elain, the water was warm, nourishing.

Everything in Autumn was volatile. There were no new beginnings, no rebirths—it was all death and ruin, retribution for an unforgiving world. There was nothing Autumn liked more than to swallow something beautiful whole.

And Elain, Ayla, and Arina were exceptionally beautiful. 

Lucien took a step toward Elain, thinking he’d haul her over his shoulders if he had to, reputation be damned. Maybe she’d learn to listen if he embarrassed her a little more. It wasn’t as if she was receptive to his gifts. When he’d seen her torn up hands, Lucien had thought perhaps the gloves hadn’t worked and gifted her a second, enchanted pair. 

He’d found both tossed in the top drawer of their shared wardrobe, half buried under her things. Lucien had changed tacts after that, bringing her a pair of pearl earrings to join the gloves. She thanked him with a pretty smile and never wore them which grated on his nerves. How long did she mean to punish him, anyway. 

Elain turned just as the skies opened up overhead. Lucien heard Connall swear loudly, stomping past him to demand the females return. Not that it mattered. Shrieking, all three began to run back toward the Forest House as Lucien watched, hair plastered to his face. Elain was quicker than he would have guessed, making her way toward him with eyes he couldn’t read.

Lightning streaked from the sky, illuminating the gray world a violet purple. It missed Elain by mere inches, though Ayla wasn’t as lucky. Elain and Arina screamed as the third female crumpled to the ground, causing them both to turn for her.

Panic flooded Lucien, his thoughts tinged red. They didn’t like each other—and she was still his mate. She was in danger. Instinct overrode all other thoughts as Lucien raced toward her, catching Elain just as she reached Ayla. 

“She—”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled in her ear, pulling her against his body. Connall and Tanwen were just behind, hovering over Ayla with nervous hands. They weren’t healers—if they picked her up, would they hurt her?

Lightning streaked again, this time closer to Arina than anyone felt comfortable with. Eris was going to lose his temper when he learned of this. Connall yanked Arina by the arm as Tanwen slid his hands beneath Ayla and lifted her lifeless body into the hair. They moved quickly, battling the wind and rain for the warmth of the Forest House.

“This is my fault,” Elain said through chattering teeth as Tanwen stalked off, not bothering to look back. “I said—I told her to keep running even when she wanted to turn back.”

Lucien almost snapped at her, agreeing that yes, she’d been a pretty little fool. It was the tears, mingling with the rain water on her cheeks, that stopped him from saying so. Elain would punish herself without his help.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her by the elbow. “You’ll catch your death.”

In his mind, every time Lucien blinked he saw the scene unfold differently. Saw the lightning streak toward Elain while he stood too far away, helpless to get to her in time. His heart raced at the image. 

“She’s dead—”

“She’s not dead,” Lucien interrupted, heart in his throat. “It struck the ground, not her. She’ll be okay.”

“She looked dead,” Elain lamented as Lucien all but shoved her in their shared room. “She looked—”

“She’s in shock,” Lucien said, unsure if that was true or not. “Tanwen will take her to a healer, she’ll be fine.”

“This wasn’t how they were supposed to meet,” she mumbled, lips blue from the cold. Lucien all but dragged her into their bedroom, throwing flames at the fireplace to bring it roaring to life. Would she let him undress her? Did he even want to undress her? Lucien thought better than to try his luck and instead turned his back, making a show of offering her privacy. Lucien’s fingers itched with the urge, body taut with interest as the rustling sounds of wet clothes slapped to the floor. He could smell her stronger—she reeked of fear, the scent so cloying it helped clear his senses. 

Lucien didn’t move, even when he caught a glimpse of fair skin from the corner of his eye. Look at her, just look—and touch and taste and—

The mating bond would be the death of him. If he didn’t get control of himself, she’d smell his desire which would only make things worse between them. Forcing air into his lungs, Lucien counted slowly as Elain dressed, turning only when she gave the word. Her hair was still limp, the ends dripping as she stood in front of the fire, but she was clothed again and Lucien could relax. 

“What did you say?” he asked, some of the fog clearing from his mind. He’d forgotten she’d spoken to him.

“I promised Ayla I would introduce her to your brother,” Elain said, chewing her bottom lip with worry. “I meant to do so at a dance, not…”

“Tanwen doesn’t dance,” Lucien said, bewildered. Ayla had been marked for Eris back when she’d first come of age and likely would have been married to him by now had Eris not accidentally met Arina and messed everything up. Tanwen could not have been more different from Eris. He’d gotten the same education, but Tanwen liked blood covered blades and showing his teeth, not fine clothes and sharp words. 

Elain was simply mistaken, he decided. She didn’t know these people the way he did, had misinterpreted and was going to create an embarrassing—yet hilarious—moment between his older brother and a lady at court. 

“Here,” Lucien said, pulling the blanket from the bed and draping it around Elain’s still trembling shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

Elain said nothing, though she wrapped the corners around her neck as she stared into the fire. “I’m trying,” she murmured after a moment while Lucien hesitated, unsure if he should stay or go. 

He sighed. “I know you are.”

He wanted to say that he was trying, too, in his own way. Even if it was bad, or didn’t seem like he was at all.

Lucien was trying.

[pandorafallz]

RDA Alma

Again, in one of my old posts, i mentioned the avatar model was a reskinned Na'vi model with an extra finger painted on, so there's that to remember when looking.

Still, I like looking between them to see how Alma's avatar changed in the 15 years since she defected.

Resistance Alma

From what i can see, Alma's undershirt in her RDA outfit is still kept and turned into a half-shirt and decorated since so it looks far nicer tho the one thing i dislike is the RDA logo that's kept on her clothes.

It makes it feel that either the avatar is still considered 'property' or that the Resistance can't remove old logos, like i think they should have covered them up bc they're not RDA and newcomers seeing the logos about may get the wrong impression.

Anyway, I do like the sublet differences in her shoes and pants. They actually look aged. The fabric has lightened in areas of wear, the shoes look shorter but most likely due to being pushed out in wear as well.

Alma's neck scarf does look interesting. I suspect it's a gift given it's texture is reminiscing of Kinglor Silk.

The colours are soft and carry practically all the characteristics of the Aranahe's artistry skills. So it seems more likely that it was gifted to her when the resistance and the Aranahe first teamed up before Asahe's death. Alma doesn't look like someone who has skill in the arts to make it herself and the Na'vi would certainly make their displeasure known if she took native clothing to wear herself without any thought. So'lek, i think would certainly mention something about it if he felt like he needed to.

Artist Page

From the beads on Alma's shirt , it looks like it could also was a gift to add to her clothes. Alma doesn't feel the sort to know how to make beads and know how to properly decorate her avatar, even her hair hasn't changed. (My sister hates the fact her hair is the same top-bun lol)

Sure, Raj could have simply made the added extras and all but it's fun to ponder how her outfit could have been added and changed over the years.

I know most of her attire is very much like her RDA clothing, so i do suspect the avatars overall have a limited wardrobe. There are solutions: accept Na'vi clothing that's offered, or make their own. I think Alma and the other avatars (like Norm) just made alterations to what was available rather than starting over and learning Na'vi skills, like weaving.

The creation of this art by Kim Kristiansson Stenberg. However, despite the link, the art of Alma itself is gone from the original site, possibly removed/deleted so i don't know the context of why it's gone but I was glad to get these while I did so I'm sharing for those who like concept for behind the scenes images.

[babydollmarauders]

Okay, I am here with Frat!Jack thoughts

1.) Baby doll likes hickeys but doesn't like having to bundle up when the weather starts getting warmer coz lil sensory issues with sweating (girl same) so jack comprises with leaving them in her thighs just BARELY covered by her skirt.

2.) Frat!Jack finally pulling his head out his ass and coming back for his girl coz Luke said she was going on a date (she wasn't) to a coffee shop (it was the first time she'd left the house semi presentable in days) with a guy on the basketball team (god fucking forbid) and Jack's brain was just *car crash noises* and he came storming in like "YOU'RE MY WOMAN BE GONE THIEF." except no thief. Just baby doll like 😧

3.) Hockey Frat House is a big party house for the girlies coz the guys drink their respect women juice coz Queen Ellen is feared and beloved

4.) everyone on the devil's (once jack gets head out his ass) expecting the rookie to be a little fratboy shithead chasing puck bunnies except first game Baby doll comes too he's all 😍😍 wife guy but in the not weird way and the team is like. Okay.... Sure.

5.) That icebreaker scene that blew up on Tiktok of the main dude coming to get his girl to come back to bed with him in the middle of a party in just his boxers to cuddle? That. Twice.

6.) Jack being given a Taylor swift style friendship bracelet that's bright pink that says Babydoll on it as a joke but he wears it ALL THE TIME.

7.) Trevor being absolutely scandalised whenever they so much as look at each other. Because obviously.

....I have other au thoughts....

addressing these one by one!!

1. babydoll loves hickeys but no one loves them more than jack! his absolute favorite thing is to mark her up! they definitely compromise by letting him give them to her only in spaces that can be covered by her skirts. jack goes a bit overboard sometimes,, i’m talking upper thighs, hip bones, lower stomach, ass, ALL OVER THAT AREA and babydoll gives him a look like “really?”.

2. i’m a firm believer that babydoll and luke become besties when he gets to umich and jack hates it but loves it at the same time. but it definitely comes in handy during times like that when jack and babydoll are on a break and luke pulls some matchmaking strings to get get them back together.

3. oh for sure! i mean, the guys might be fuckboys, but they’re respectful! most certainly because they know Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t hesitate to yell at them if she heard they were anything but respectful!

4. the devils guys definitely expect some cocky fuckboy frat boy, so when jack arrives and won’t stop mentioning his beautiful girlfriend and talks about how he misses her because she’s still in Michigan for another year? the team is shocked and just like “oh?? okay then…”. there’s definitely still a few teammates that expect him to be sleeping with puck bunnies the first chance he gets, but then at their first team outing at the bar after a winning game, jack is just incredibly drunk and moaning about how he just wants his girl and turning down any other girl who comes up to him.

5. that happens at least twice! just a sleepy and still a bit tipsy jack, wandering down the stairs of the frat in nothing but his boxers, earning quite a few whistles and shouts as he walks straight to babydoll— boy will not take no for an answer, he doesn’t even give her the time to say anything, he just lifts her into his arms and turns back around and straight back to his room. babydoll is just looking at him stunned and goes “jacky, what are you doing?” and he’s all pouty, replying with “you left. i need cuddles.”

6. he definitely receives the bracelet at a sorority party that one of babydoll’s friends put together. all the other guys that got bracelets with their girls names on them threw the bracelets away, but not jack. that bracelet becomes a staple in his wardrobe, only coming off to shower.

7. oh god, babydoll and jack even breathe in the same vicinity and trevor is giving them the most disgusted look, telling them to “get a room.” and “not everyone wants your love disease, some of us don’t wanna see that.” and jack and babydoll are just “?????”